


Stay Alive For Now

by nunchikoi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Canon Compliant, Cedric Diggory Lives, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, bUT WITH PLOT AND HEALTHY CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT (HOPEFULLY), everything is basically the same except its gayer, indulge me, j.k rowlings missed opportunity, my take on how the harry potter series would've continued if cedric lived, so a lot of soft soft soft fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-07-28 01:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 59,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16231847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nunchikoi/pseuds/nunchikoi
Summary: Everything is the same except Cedric Diggory lives and thus, as God has decreed, Harry Potter has his bisexual awakening.Aka JK Rowling's Missed Opportunity™. Aka a celebration of 20gayteen.





	1. Flesh Blood & Bone; Death Eaters & Priori Incantum

**Author's Note:**

> Using the first chapter(s) to establish the setting! Please excuse recycled excerpts from Ms Rowling's GoF! (praise be).  
> Everything in italics is from her books, everything in normal stylization was written by me.  
> Please enjoy and feel free to leave constructive criticism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the graveyard.  
> Excerpts from Ms Rowling's book have been recycled (shown in italics) whereas my added stuff are in default formatting.

_Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way and he fell forwards; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head._

_"Where are we?" he said._ _Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around._

_They had left the Hogwarts grounds completely, obviously travelled miles_ — _perhaps a hundred miles_ — _or even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. They were standing instead in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the back outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make the outline of a fine old house on the hillside._ _Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry._

_'Did anyone tell you the Cup was a Portkey?' he asked._

_'Nope,' said Harry. He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. 'Is this supposed to be part of the task?'_

_'I dunno,' said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous. 'Wands out, d'you reckon?'_

_'Yeah,' said Harry, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him._

_They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched._

_'Someone's coming,' he said suddenly._

_Squinting tensely through the darkness, they watch the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily towards them between the graves. Harry couldn't make out a face; but from the way it was walking, and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying something. Whoever they were, they were short, and wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over their head to obscure their face and_ — _several paces nearer, the space between them closing all the time_ — _he saw that the thing in the person's arms looked like a baby ... or was it merely a bundle of robes?_

_Harry lowered his wand slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. For a second, Harry and Cedric and the short figure simply looked at each other._

_And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. It was agony such as he had never felt in all his life; his wand slipped from his fingers as he put his hands over his face; his knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all, his head was about to split open._

'Harry?' Hurriedly, Cedric knelt beside Harry, pressing his hand against his back, 'What's wrong Harry?'

From far away, above his head, Harry heard a high, cold voice say 'Kill the spare.'

_There was a swishing noise and a blast of green light blazed through Harry's eyelids, and he heard something heavy fall to the ground beside him; the pain in his scar reached such a pitch that he retched, and then it diminished; terrified of what he was about to see, he opened his sting eyes._

_Cedric was lying spread-eagled on the ground beside him. He was dead._

Harry stopped breathing, he stared into Cedric's face, how he lay almost peacefully; eyes closed and mouth half-open, asleep. But in the cold moonlight, with the  _crack!_ of the killing curse ringing in his ears, the sound of Cedric's body falling onto the ground; Harry could fixate on the feeling of cold sweat drip, dripping down his neck.

_Shit,_   
_Shit shit shi-_

His mind couldn't comprehend it, numbed down by disbelief, but his body was already wrought in shallow breath; hot tears stung at Harry's eyes. It was the first time he'd seen a body, he felt nauseous, sick. And yet he couldn't tear his eyes away—for this one,  _eternal_ second, Harry felt his knees go slack, not out of his scar's pain but rather something that gurgled out of his chest. He choked out a shaky and heartbroken,

" **Cedric.** "

 

The second passed and then suddenly he was being pulled to his feet.  _The short man in the cloak had put down his bundle, lit his wand, and was dragging Harry towards the marble headstone. Harry saw the name upon the tombstone, it's letters dyed in the wand-light before he was forced around and slammed against it._

_TOM RIDDLE_

_Harry could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hooded man; he struggled, and the man hit him - hit him with a hand that had a finger missing. And Harry realised who was under the hood._

_It was Wormtail._

_'You!' he gasped._

But Wormtail didn't reply, busy strapping Harry against the headstone with rope, stuffing his mouth with some material from his cloak. Unable to move, unable to scream, Harry could only  _stare;_ stare as Wormtail's trembling fingers fumbled with the knot, stare at the bundle at his feet and how it shifted and squirmed underneath. Harry stared at Cedric's body,  _lying twenty feet away. And then some way beyond him, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup._ Harry stared at the unfamiliar sky, stared at his wand  which lay on the ground out of reach.

He began to pray.

...

_'Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand.'_

Harry fell to the ground and dug into the soil of the earth, only breathing in shaky and deep breaths. His injured leg twitched and he gripped his wand so tightly, he was almost certain that it'd break. But as the pain and terror settled in, Harry stood up with an even darker feeling, shooting from his leg up his spine;  _hatred_.

 _'You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?' said Voldemort softly, his red eyes glinting through the darkness. At this words Harry remembered, as though from a former life, the Duelling Club at Hogwarts he had attended briefly two years ago ... all he had learnt there was the Disarming spell, 'Expelliarmus' ... and what use would it be, even if he could, to deprive Voldemort of his wand, when he was surrounded by Death Eaters, outnumbered by at least thirty to one? He knew he was facing the thing against which Moody had always warned .. the unblockable Avada Kedavra curse_ — _and Voldemort was_ — _h_ _is mother was not here to die for him this time... he was quite unprotected ..._

_'We bow to each other, Harry,' said Voldemort, bending a little, but keeping his snake-like face upturned to Harry. 'Come, the niceties must be observed .. Dumbledore would like to show manners ... bow to death, Harry ...'_

_The Death Eaters were laughing again, Voldemort's lipless mouth was smiling, Harry did not bow. He was not going to let Voldemort play with him before killing him ... he was not going to give him that satisfaction ..._

...

 _Harry crouched behind the headstone and knew the end had come._ The breath heavy through his chest, his leg throbbing, his glasses and his face dirtied and covered in his own blood— _there was no hope ... no help to be had._

 _But_   _he was not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek; he was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort's feet ... he was going to die upright like his father, and he was going to die trying to defend himself, even if no defence was possible. Before Voldemort could stick his snake-like face around the headstone, Harry had stood up ... he gripped his wand tightly in his head, thrust it out in front of him, and threw himself around the headstone, facing Voldemort._

_Voldemort was ready. As Harry shouted 'Expelliarmus!', Voldemort cried, 'Avada Kedava!'_

_A jet of green light issued from Voldemort's wand just as a jet of red light blasted from Harry's_ — _they met in mid-air_ — _and suddenly, Harry's wand was vibrating as though an electric charge was surging through it; his hand had seized up around it; he couldn't have released it even if he'd wanted to - and a narrow beam of light was now connecting the two wands, neither red nor green, but bright, deep gold - and Harry, following the beam with his astonishing gaze, saw that Voldemort's white fingers, too, were gripping a wand that was shaking and vibrating._

 _"Do nothing!" Voldemort shrieked to the Death Eaters._ They were in utter disbelief at the sight of their master held in a lock with a teenage boy. Voldemort turned to face his opponent, and  _Harry saw his red eyes wide with astonishment at what was happening, saw him fighting to break the thread of light still connecting his wand with Harry's; Harry held onto his wand more tightly, with both hands, and the golden thread remained unbroken. 'Do nothing unless I command you!' Voldemort shouted to the Death Eaters._

 _But then an unearthly and beautiful sound filled the air ... it was coming from every thread of the light-spun web vibrating around Harry and Voldemort._ Soft yet triumphant singing, the sound of horns swelling to an unbridled chorus of hope. As though a friend was speaking in his ear, Harry heard,

_Do not break the connection._

_I know, Harry told the music, I know I mustn't. Harry's wand began to vibrate more powerfully than ever ... and now the beam between him and Voldemort changed ... it was as though large beads of light were sliding up and down the thread connecting the wands -- Harry felt his wand give a shudder, as the light beads began to slide slowly and steadily his way ... the direction of the beam's movement was now towards him, from Voldemort, and he felt his wand shudder angrily._ _One of the beads of light was quivering, inches from the tip of Voldemort's wand._ Harry didn't understand why or what he was doing, but he still began to concentrate every last particle of his mind into forcing the beads back to Voldemort and slowly,  _slowly;_  the beads halted and began to waft the other way. It was Voldemort's wand that was vibrating extra hard now and  _Voldemort_ who looked astonished, and almost fearful. As the bead of light moved along the golden thread, it trembled for a moment, just before the tip of Voldemort's wand and then ... it connected.

 _At once, Voldemort's wand began to emit echoing screams of pain ... then -- Voldemort's red eyes widened with shock -- a dense, smoky hand flew out of the tip of it and vanished ... the ghost of the hand he had made Wormtail ... more shouts of pain ... and then something large began to blossom from Voldemort's wand tip;_ a great and bright something, that looked as though it was made from solid light ... it was a head ... then a chest and arms, and now .. the torso of Cedric Diggory.

Harry almost released his wand out of shock, but instinct willed his fingers to stay closed and rigid. Cedric's bright figure glanced towards him, and looked up and down the golden thread of light. Then he spoke soft, yet the words were so loud it rang clear in Harry's mind;

 _'Hold on, just a little while longer,'_ Cedric said.

And there were some frightened yells from the Death Eaters, unable to enter the yellow-golden dome that webbed around Harry and Voldemort. Suddenly more screams from the wand ... and then something else emerged, this time a dark and dense shadow, as if made from smoke and tufts of grey cloud. Squeezing out with a head, arms and torso, Harry recognized the figure of the old man from his dreams walking from beside Cedric. He eyed Voldemort.

'He was a real wizard, then?' he said, and unlike Cedric, his voice and words echoed as if he was far away.

'Killed me, that one did ... you fight him, boy ...'

'Don't let go, now!' someone cried, another dark shadow or ghost but in the shape of Bertha Jorkins echoing just like the old man. 'Don't let him get you, Harry - don't let go!'

She, the old man and more of Voldemort's victims, their shadows less humanoid and more wisps, circled and wafted around the duelers; whispering hope to Harry and hissing at his opponents. Another head began to emerge from the tip of Voldemort's wand ...  _and Harry knew when he saw it who it would be ... he knew, as though he had expected it from the moment when Cedric had appeared from the wand ... knew, because the woman appearing was the one he'd thought of more than any other tonight ..._

_The smoky shadow of a young woman with long hair fell to the ground as Cedric, the old man and Bertha had done, before straightening up and looking at him ... and Harry, his arms shaking madly now, looked back into the ghostly face of his mother._

_'Your father's coming ...' she said quietly. 'He wants to see you ... it will be alright ... hold on ...'_

_And he came ... first his head, then his body ... tall and untidy-hair like Harry, the smoke, shadowy form of James Potter blossomed from the end of Voldemort's wand, fell to the ground, and straightened like his wife. He walked close to Harry, looking down at him, and he spoke in the same distant, echoing voice as the others, but quietly, so that Voldemort, his face now livid with fear as his victims prowled around him could not hear ..._

_'When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments ... but we will give you time ... you must get to the Portkey, it will return you to Hogwarts ... do you understand Harry?'_

_'Yes,' Harry gasped; fighting now to keep a hold on his wand, which was slipping and sliding beneath his fingers._

'Harry ...' it was Cedric whispering into his ear now, but again unlike the others, it was like Cedric was there; like he was speaking and breathing, like his hands really held onto Harry's shoulder and spread warmth across his body.  
But there was nothing there.

'Take my body back, will you? Take me back home with you.' Cedric says.

'I will!' Harry huffed out. It took more and more effort to talk.

'You're doing so well darling,' it was his mother's voice now, so sweet and unexpected that Harry's eyes began to well, his vision turning blurry and vague as Lily Potter spoke.

'Harry? Harry, take care of yourself won't you? I've asked your friend to take care of you too... You'll both get out of here, I swear it!' she said and Harry nodded furiously, knowing that his mother would smile.

_'Do it now,' whispered his father's voice. 'Be ready to run ... do it now ...'_

_'NOW!' Harry yelled; he didn't think he could have held on for a moment anyway -- he pulled his hand upwards with an almighty wrench, and the golden thread broke. The cord of light vanished, the song died -- but the shadowy figures of Voldemort's victims did not disappear -- they were closing in upon Voldemort, shielding Harry from his gaze --_

In this eternal moment, Harry could only watch as the figures of his mother and father disintegrated into a grey and violent cloud that wrapped around Voldemort, who screamed and howled like a rush of wind. Harry felt himself being pushed and, upon realizing that Cedric's bright figure and warm hands were pushing him to go; Harry ran for his life, piercing his way through the gaggle of stunned Death Eaters, and zig-zagging between the headstones. Eventually, he heard the cracks of spells whizzing from behind him, stinging the grass and whipping the ground beneath his feet.

'Stand aside! I will kill him, he is mine!' shrieked Voldemort. But he was too late. Harry had dived towards Cedric, making sure to hold the older boy's hand tightly while he pointed his wand towards the Cup and yelled 'Accio!'; the trophy leaping up and soaring towards him. When Harry caught the handle, he lost sight of the Death Eaters, and the graveyard and Voldemort's piercing scream all together, as for a second time tonight, Harry felt himself jerked into Portkey travel; lost in a whirl of wind and colour, with Cedric by his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the tumblr for this fic!!  
> >> cedricsboyfriend.tumblr.com <<


	2. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back in Hogwarts bois.

_Harry felt himself slam flat into the ground, his face pressed into the grass, the smell of it filling his nostrils. He had closed his eyes while the Portkey transported him, and he kept them closed now. He did not move. All the breath has been knocked out of him; his head was swimming so badly he felt as though the ground beneath him was swaying like the deck of a ship. To hold himself steady, he tightened his hold on the two things he was still clutching_ — _the smooth cold handle of the Triwizard Cup, and Cedric's hand._

Tears streamed down his face, as he cried into Cedric's chest. He could hear the band playing. A victorious tune pumped out of the horn while all around him, Hogwarts students rioted in raucous cheer. But it soon trailed away, as Harry repressed a sob, the only sound that echoed from his rattled his heart. 

Realization hit as their champions stayed still, pressed to the ground.

A torrent of sound trickled and soon deafened Harry's ears, as if the world suddenly started moving again, but much faster than what he was used to. Everywhere he heard voices, footsteps and screams, but Harry remained where he was, gripping onto Cedric's shirt, willing either himself or everything else to fade away.

"Harry?" 

"Oh my lord—"

_"Harry!"_

A pair of hands seized at his shirt but Harry could only bat them away and scream _"No!"_ , before he finally opened his eyes to face the crowd that have gathered; Cornelius Fudge, Snape, Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Fleur, and Krum—Harry's vision blurred all the bodies that stood above his own, and all the faces that stared in shock.

"He's back!" Harry said as loud as he could, voice breaking, "Voldemort is back!"  
Everyone around him and those huddled in the stands fell to a steep silence, but it wasn't long before before a stream of cries and rioting noise rang out into the night, Dumbledore yelling for order, Fudge sputtering in exclamation— _"My god, is that Cedric, dead?!"_  —and then; the sound of someone sprinting through the stands, frantic and insistent on forcing himself into the inner circle.

"Let me in! He's my  _son!_  Let me through!" Mr Diggory yelled. Harry felt his stomach drop as he watched Mr Diggory push through and, upon seeing the body, fall to his knees.

"My, my boy!" he whispered, in a voice that cracked and devastated so deeply that, in all the noise and racket, Harry felt like he had been stabbed. Someone tried to pull him away again, "Let go now Harry,  _let go_ ," they said. But even as Mr Diggory keeled over Cedric, body wretched in a sob, Harry couldn't let go—it felt like something had  _died_ inside him.

"I'm so s-sorry," he says and he wish it didn't hurt. The pain he swallowed choked him, and his voice crumbled down an echo of disparity, "I couldn't save—he tried to—"

"Wait! Wait Potter, Amos!" McGonagall suddenly gasped, "He's... I..I think he's  _breathing_!"

Harry opened his eyes, the sounds of his reality fading away. Only the rasp of Cedric's breath passed through, shaky and shallow. His expression shifted, it sounded like his throat stuttered, while his eyes twitched; discomfort and pain twinged in his face and body. Still breathing.  
Still alive.

"-ry... H-" Cedric breathed and everyone's heart stopped "..Harry."  
At that soft and weary whisper of his name, Harry felt himself falter and loosen his grip on Cedric's shirt, as if all the energy; all the tension that kept him up had drained out.

"Son!" cried Mr Diggory, stroking and kissing Cedric's face in relief.

"Get him to the infirmary!" Dumbledore boomed. A new surge of feet and bodies rushed to Cedric's aid and Harry let himself be pulled away, tugged through the crowd that slowly thickened.

"It's all right son," Harry heard, already miles away in his head, "I've got you ... come on to hospital wing ..."

It was Moody's voice and hand that coaxed him along, and while Harry didn't know where he was being taken—for now it wasn't too important.  
Because tonight, he and Cedric were both alive.

They survived the graveyard.

...  
Three days since that night, after unmasking Barty Crouch Jr and discovering the real Moody locked away in a box—after Fudge's accusation of Harry being a liar; Hermione and the Weasley family's incessant questions of whether he was okay and the Diggorys' profuse expressions of gratitude for rescuing their son; Harry was finally alone in the hospital wing.

He had woken up with a jolt, cold sweat on his brow and hands that trembled as he recovered from another nightmare; another dream spent in the graveyard. The feeling of grease and grime stayed fresh, as if still smeared on his limbs, and the smell the freshly turned dirt gagged Harry sour; he could still see Voldemort's spindly, twisted body writhing in a bundle of black cloth. Harry watched as Death Eater surrounded him and closed in, and from where he stood; Tom Riddle Sr's bony hand had grabbed his ankles, dragging him into a pit of bones and squirming maggots and wooden walls that slowly enclosed to crush his body. Worst of all, Harry could  _hear_ things still; the sound of Voldemort's slithery voice, the cracking noise of spells that grazed and whizzed past his body and finally, the sound of Cedric's body hitting the earth—this time, accompanied by the image of his head thrown back, eyes left open and mouth agape—nothing but nothing and death haunting his eyes.

Blind in the darkness, gasping and fighting to breathe, Harry tried to shake it off; fearing that his heart would beat too far and break open his own chest. He sat upright, trying to distract himself, focusing his attention on anything and everything. Up and down his arms, legs and the mattress of his bed, Harry's hands flew, as his mind tried with all its effort to focus on  _feeling._ When it didn't work, Harry swung his his legs over, and let his feet touch the cold floor; squirming at an annoying but small pain that prickled in his leg. He focused on the tightness of the bandages wound around his arms, the plaster stuck on his cheek, and the sensation of the cool night settling in his hair.

It was steadier now, in the darkness and as Harry's hands stopped shaking, as he became less and less disgusted with the cold sweat down his nape; he slowly felt more and more ...  _here_.

Harry let his eyes get used to the darkness before he strained to look around. The infirmary's tall windows had cast dark shadows against the floor, moonlight filtering through the glass and wafting where dim candlelight illuminated. Usually, Madame Pomfrey was awake, doing paperwork on her desk and watching over Harry and her other patients, but for tonight she was nowhere to be seen.

It was strange for the infirmary to be so quiet, especially with this years group of inhabitants. Even without the sounds of Madame Pomfrey's quill scratching on parchment, Harry was used to the sounds of Krum snoring, or the few bits of French and English that slipped out when Fleur sleep-talked across the room. They had both returned that afternoon, recovered from their injuries, and leaving with cheery goodbyes, get-well wishes and empty beds in the infirmary.

Moody, the  _real_  Moody, lay in a bed across from Harry's.  
It was surprising to learn that Crouch's Moody was eerily similar to the real one, it almost felt like Harry and the professor  _had_ actually met at the beginning of the year. However conversation would be sparse in these hours, Moody was always fast asleep at night, occasionally jerking up and barking incoherent commands, but always,  _eventually_ , settling into slumber again.

All that was left of the infirmary's current patients was Harry and Cedric, who occupied bed beside each-other but never seemed to be awake during the same times. Harry was starting to become unsure about whether Cedric really  _did_  sleep during the day, or whether he was just avoided. Both thoughts were equally worrying despite being in the midst of their victory in the tournament, Fudge and the Prophet had been quick to brand Harry as a liar.   
Cedric had become his only hope in bringing the threat of Voldemort to light and tame his growing controversy within the Wizarding World. Unfortunately, however, Harry hadn't seen Cedric since—

_Woosh!_

Harry jumped at the noise of his curtains being sharply pulled back, holding his breath as Cedric, standing tall and straight, stepped into the light—his face, scratched and plastered, his hair messy and eyes adjusting to the pale moon, before recognizing Harry right in front of him.  
  


Cedric broke away from the surprise first.

"Hello," he smiled, "Glad I got the right bed."

Still mildly perturbed, Harry mumbled a meek hello back and stared away from Cedric, not knowing where else to look. 

They hadn't seen each other since that night in the graveyard.

"How... How are you?" Cedric asked, "the other day, you must've-.. you must've gone through a lot."

Caught off-guard by question, Harry gaped worriedly at him.

"I would rather ask how you're doing. You-.. I-" Harry shook his head, letting go of a sigh as his mind overloaded with too many burning questions. Cedric sat beside Harry, making him stiffen.

"Do you remember anything?" he asked.

"I hear that you got us back, from the graveyard. You got us home," Cedric said gently.

"You don't remember—" Harry started but then he realized, "You don't remember because you were knocked out!" 

He groaned and buried his face into his hands, feeling like an  _idiot_ ; the hope, the idea of proving Fudge, the Prophet and the entire Wizarding World wrong; melting away immediately.

"Sorry," said Cedric. He locked his fingers locked together and tilted his eyes up at Harry, "Could you tell me what happened?  _Please?"_

Harry shook his head,  
"You must've read the Prophet right? I'm sure you know what  _I_  think happened."

"I know what  _they_  think happened, what  _they_ think of you, what our Minister of Magic thinks about you," Cedric squeezed his hands together, "But I don't  _know_  what you think, and it seems like neither do they."

Harry sighed.

"How far do you remember?" he asked.

"Up until your scar started hurting. When that...  _person_  that we saw, stupefied me."

 _Right._ It was an obvious answer, and a stupid question.

"Okay," Harry and he exhaled shakily, nervous. Cedric waited patiently.

"The cloak man that we saw-.. that was a man named Peter Pettigrew. He cast a spell at you and I thought, that you  _died_ ," Harry explained, his eyebrows furrowed, "You fell and lay so ...  _still_. I didn't check, I didn't even  _bother-"_

"It's okay." Cedric coaxed, and he nudged him gently, "Keep going."

"After they dealt with you... Worm-  _Pettigrew,_ dragged me to this tombstone and tied me to it. Then he went to get the bundled, cloaked thing he was carrying and I thought it was a baby—but no," Harry sighed, "it was much much worse..."

In a half-hour Harry told him everything, the ritual that led to Voldemort's revival, the tale of the night his parents died, how his 'mothers' love' protected him in her sacrifice. Everything he couldn't tell Ron or Hermione, he told Cedric—the Death Eaters, the duel, the strange golden light that connected his and Voldemort's wand for so long, he told him about the spirits of Voldemort's victims that helped him escape—all with Cedric's quiet nudges and murmuring, the only thing that kept Harry going, strangling out the words and fully reliving that night in one conscious sitting.

"Your spirit or soul, it was the first one to, uh, bloom from Voldemort's wand," Harry said, "You asked me to bring your body back... to bring you home to your parents."

Slowly, Cedric turned to look at Harry, almost sad, almost pained.  
"Yeah. That one, I remember." he said.

Harry's eyes widened.  
"Yeah?"

"Yeah.. You said that I was golden right? Not grey like the others, like that poor old man or your parents."

"You were."

"Can I tell you something?"

"Please," Harry gestured. Cedric took a sharp breath.

"After I was... knocked out, I woke up I think, in a sorta—hazy distorted version of the graveyard," he clenched his fists, "I thought that I was dead. Or dreaming. But then I saw  _you_... fighting You-Know-Who. I didn't really know who it was at the time but..." Cedric lowered his voice, darkening, "He was definitely powerful and dark, I thought he was the reaper trying to collect my soul."

Harry wanted to push, wanted to ask little bit more. It was odd and strange and mystifying to hear that Cedric had seen what he had seen, albeit in some sort unconscious dream-state. But Cedric's expression was too thin, this night has had enough of hearts being bared. 

"Well, that's all the important stuff I can summarize Cedric, I promise." he said, staring at the ceiling, fists tightened. "I managed to escape, get to the Portkey and when we came back to Hogwarts... you started to breathe again."

Harry sighed and flopped back onto his bed, lighter now that he had recalled that night in open air. This was better than the time Harry spoke in Dumbledore's stuffy office. Better to talk to Cedric instead of talking at the headmaster, under his watchful gaze.   
But he still couldn't rid of the resounding hole in his chest, the way his stomach curled and coiled in anxiety. It was all too frustrating, every hope dashed, everything too  _demeaning_  right now.

Harry felt himself lurch a few centimeters upward as Cedric flopped back onto the bed as well. He thought nothing of it, perhaps Cedric was tired too, until abruptly he broke into a muffled snort.

"What?" Harry asked, as Cedric laughed into his hand, "Why are you laughing?"

"The Boys Who Lied eh?" Cedric said, almost delightfully.  _So he ** _had_**  read the Prophet recently._ 

"Not  _Boys,_ it's Boy Who Lied. You'll be fine if  _you_  don't talk," Harry grumbled, "You're too  _pretty_  to be scandalized right?"

Cedric laughed louder much to Harry's relief, he did not mean to sound unkind, but it was still dismally true and... aggravating.

"Don't worry," Cedric said straightening up and looking forward, "I'll tell them too! Everyone'll need to know that  _He's_  back, that's rather important information I think..."

Harry paused.

_"What?!"_

He jerked upright in utter confusion, forgetting about his surroundings as his loud cry earned a low growl that came from Moody's bed. Cedric looked at Harry, and sat up as well, again with the same, almost excited, expression; he grabbed Harry's hand, and held it as if in mid-handshake.

"Harry, I don't know if I was a spirit or even if I was corporeal or an illusion, but I  _was_  there too! I  _saw_  him too. I'm not leaving you alone on this, people  _need_  to know!"

"You don't know what you're inviting if you go at it like I did!" Harry said, barely whispering, "Besides you can't say that you saw him the way you did, they'll think you're even madder than I am!"

"Counter-point. It's too late! I've made up my mind. And again, I can't leave you  _alone._ " said Cedric, earnestly. Harry sighed, unable to keep away a small smile from his face.

"You've just survived Voldemort, and now you want to be paraded in the Prophet?!" he said, incredulous. 

"Yes! Because it matters, and this is important! Besides," Cedric smiled, the light changing in his eyes, "I can't let  _half_  of the Triwizard Champions fizzle out of public view eh- **OW!** Okay, I was joking about that but I am,  _really_ serious mate- _"_

Cedric rubbed at where Harry had smacked his head sharply, not enough to hurt, but enough to startle him; and yet he couldn't help but muffle some more laughter behind his hand.

Unbeknownst to him, Harry felt glad.

At that moment where their fingers touched, when Cedric said he'd tell the world too, Harry sighed in relief; as if the entire time  _he_  had been the one holding his breath, his entire body framed in anxiety and anticipation of how many more would shun him, and how much more it would have to hurt inside before his bones could ever think about healing. He felt the tension release, and it was almost like the world seemed a little more hopeful, a little brighter, with the fact that Cedric was on his side.

"Thank you," Harry whispered, interrupting the stream of apologies. Cedric felt Harry's hand squeeze his own, " _Thank you_ , Cedric."

Cedric smiled as if Harry said something silly.

"I should be thanking you, Harry, seriously—" Cedric replied, his voice low and soft, he squeezed Harry's hand back. "Thank you for bringing me,  _us_ , home."

"We brought  _ourselves_  home," Harry declared. He watched Cedric smile, his grey eyes warm in the cold moonlight.

"We? Including myself?" Cedric laughed, "But I was unconscious!"

"You saved me in the graveyard!" Harry blurted immediately, the awkwardness, his guard now gone. Cedric stared at him, a little stunned.

"Your spirit or, whatever your presence was that night, it er... gave me hope... when I was fighting. It.. It  _helped_  me keep going." Harry said, his face strangely red as he spoke quickly.

"I know that you have questions, and that I probably can't answer them. And this is gonna be hard road right?"

"Right."

"But we'll figure it out yeah? Just like we did in the graveyard, kind of..." Cedric broke into a huge grin.

"Yeah, we'll figure it out. Either way though, I am happy to be of service, even when I'm unconscious!" Cedric proclaimed proudly, and so loudly did he speak that Moody shouted a sharp and angry _"QUIET!"_  as if he was  _actually_  awake and had been disturbed. 

Shocked by the noise, Cedric and Harry became even more panicked when the sound of Madame Pomfrey's quick footsteps echoed in the hallway, heading towards them. As Cedric dashed away to his own bed, Harry fell apart and stifled his giggles into his pillow.

It was the first time that he's laughed in three days.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cedric and Harry talking for the first time in three days and establishing a friendship based on their shared experiences of the graveyard is just _one_ more way to make Harry Potter more emotionally and psychologically stable js (COUGH* MS. ROWLING)


	3. Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Cedric are back to Hogwarts, and ending the year on a high.

_"Look it's him..."_

_"Oooh, the Chosen One?"_

_"Do you really think he saw, You-Know-Who?"_

_"No way! He knew he couldn't win, so he probably knocked Diggory out with a charm before grabbing the Cup!"_

 

Harry glanced up, a stream of muffled laughter and snickers thrown in his direction.

"Shh! The chosen one heard us! Better stay out of his way less we end up like Diggory!"

What were the swear words that Ron would always say?  
Merlin's beard? Merlin's  _pants_?

"Ugh, bleed your hearts out elsewhere, y'ninnies!" Harry heard a voice yell out. He felt an arm slung around his shoulders, connecting him to particularly tall red-head who flashed his middle-finger to the shocked group of gossiping fourth-years.

"Fred!" Harry said, breaking into a surprised smile.

"Aren't you lot just mad that you lost your bets?" another voice taunted, and this time it was George who had wrapped his arm around Harry, laughing as the fourth-years scurried away in a huff; the twins shouting some more loud insults— _"Dung brains!" "Beetle beards!" "Second-class banshees!"_ —until they all disappeared around the corner.

"Don't mind them Harry," Fred said as they moved through the hallway.

"They're just a bunch of idiots, idiots!" George chimed in, waving away at people walking through the hallway like flies. Harry grinned and let Fred and George pull him along the corridor, talking about their confiscated earnings from the tournament and laughing as they caught up with the few weeks he had spent in the infirmary. Eventually they swung into the Great Hall—just in time for breakfast—as Harry quietly tuned out of the conversation and kept his eyes peeled for heads of his friends.

It wasn't long before he heard an excited  _"Harry!"_ , and an amazed Hermione stood up from her table, sprinting toward him with her hair tumbling from her bun. The twins loosened their arms around Harry's shoulders and in replacement, Hermione had clamped hers around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. Harry laughed and swung her around;

"It's good to see you, Hermione!" he said, stepping from side to side. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ron run up as well, before he soon collided into them and turned it into a group hug.

"You alright mate?" Harry asked, he felt Ron's hand press against the back of his head as if Ron was making sure that he was  _really_  there.

"Alright," Ron grinned a lopsided smile, "you?"  
Harry laughed, "Better now." he said.

From the left Harry heard a sudden and joyous roar, while a flurry of yellow and black neckties and scarves bounded towards the end of the Hufflepuff table; welcoming an,  _also,_ recovered and returned Cedric. Hysteric girls cried and laughed while the boys clapped him on the back; some first-years had lined up, begging to be told something,  _anything_ , from what happened in the last trial. As Harry stared, he couldn't really hear the twin's comments about competing for a bigger welcome; he was too engrossed in the scene in front of him, of how lively Cedric's surroundings was.

 

Just before their release, the press had come for a statement from Cedric, who had loudly and boldly proclaimed that Voldemort had returned. From within his curtained off bed, Harry heard Amos Diggory cough and sputter, while some reporters exclaimed in revelation.

"But, Mr Diggory! Weren't you-?"

"Unconscious? Yes, you're right. But I believe him, I  _believe_  Harry Potter." Cedric said. Harry could feel his ears burning as Cedric went on to tell the story that they concocted; how he was knocked out  _after_  he saw Voldemort rise,  _after_  the ritual, and how he  _definitely_  did not have an out-of-body experience that night.

 

This morning, in the Great Hall, Harry could see some students note—mostly every house  _but_ Hufflepuff—gaze at Cedric with misconstrued eyes, hesitant expressions. It was an expression that he been used to being object of, this entire year.   
There were newspapers in their hands and many more copies scattered throughout the tables. The owls had dropped a new edition of the Prophet that morning, headlined with the  _The Boys Who Lied_ and featuring two separate photos of Cedric and Harry staring at the reader from the front page. 

Harry was astounded at little time it took, and as his eyes drifted back to Cedric, who looked up back at him. 

As if knowing, Cedric quickly picked up a nearby newspaper and pointed to its front page, a cheerful smile spread across his face as he mouthed  _"_ _Look it's us!"_.

Harry responded with a grin and a re-affirming nod, much to Ron and Hermione's bewilderment.

"Oh! Did you two get close? In the infirmary?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, a little bit," Harry replied.

"Don't worry Ron, even if they've teamed up Harry will still be your best-friend." Hermione giggled. Ron rolled his eyes, while Harry laughed as well.

But it was true, Harry was in this with Cedric now. There was fleeting but warm sense in his chest, that thought maybe,  _maybe,_ it wouldn't be so bad being together.   
But he wouldn't be able to give it more time as suddenly there was a startling bellow of cheers and shouts, Harry swinging around to meet the storm of joy and celebration that Fred and George whipped up, complete with confetti and fake fireworks that set off and dazzled the Great Hall—much to Snape's distaste and McGonagall's apprehension—Soon, Harry was swept up in a tide of Gryffindors, who bowled him over with hugs and cries of  _"C_ _ongratulations!_ _"_

Lifted up and placed on Fred's shoulders, Harry looked over to Cedric, who laughed hysterically at his rigid bewilderment. In this moment, it didn't matter whether anyone believed Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory or not. It didn't matter who won, or what who said. Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang student's didn't care and nor did the teachers, and faculty who could only sip their morning tea, sighing in resignation at the upheaval of ruckus in front of them.

Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory survived the Triwizard Tournament. Beyond that, they survived the graveyard, they survived  _Voldemort_.

They were, quite simply, quite gladly, alive.

...

 

"I still can't believe you just gave Fred and George the money!" Ron exclaimed, swinging his suit-case up onto the luggage rack.

"Well the Diggorys' wouldn't accept it," Harry shrugged.

"Yeah but that does't mean you give it to Fred and George!"

"It is— _was_ —his money Ron," Hermione said, closing the carriage door, "Maybe they'll do something good with it, who knows?"

"We're talking about  _my_  brothers right?" Ron shook his head. "If they do anything 'good' with that money .... well this has  _definitely_  been the strangest year so far!"

"It's still definitely up there," Harry laughed, looking outside the window. He gave a small sigh, "What a year."

Ron and Hermione paused and looked over at each-other. There was  _too much_  weight resting behind that sentence. In their friendship, there was little that these three did not tell each-other, but this time Harry was too eager to forget about what happened at the graveyard—Ron and Hermione, too afraid to push beyond the fact that Voldemort was back. There was a small chance to ask now, Harry didn't notice the sudden silence that settled in the train cart. Ron nudged Hermione and tilted his head towards Harry, but before Hermione could say anything; their carriage door slid open, and the trio found a casually-dressed Cedric standing in the doorway.

"Er, hello!" Cedric smiled, closing the door behind him.

"Oh, hi!" Ron said. He stood up and awkwardly bowed before Hermione quickly pulled him away, apologizing and fervently bowing as well despite herself. They glanced between Harry— who seemed too wide-eyed to speak—and (the) Cedric Diggory, who seemed anxious to state his business. Ron hastily cleared his throat and moved towards the door. 

"Well you know what," he said, "Hermione and I, we were actually just about to go!"

"Huh?" Hermione stared at him, confused.

"Yeah, didn't you say that, uh, you wanted to try out those new lollies on the ladies cart?"

"I—oh... oh  _yes!"_  Hermione said, nodding along with Ron. She stood up and edged towards the doorway, a smile plastered on her face.

"We'll be right back, Harry! Nice seeing you Diggory," Ron said as casually as he could. Unfortunately while he walked out, he tripped and stumbled down the train hallway which left Hermione to sigh, wave with a sudden burst of cheeriness and promptly slam the door shut.

 

Cedric and Harry looked at each-other.

"Well..." Cedric said, looking down, "I uh, I hope I didn't scare them off or.. anything." 

Harry laughed nervously.

"Were you guys in the middle of something?" Cedric asked, sitting down.

"No, no. We were just, er, talking about the year..." Harry leaned closer to Cedric and in a quiet voice changed the topic, "Is there, something wrong?"

Cedric blinked once, before breaking into small laughter. He leaned back into seat, crossed his arms, and asked "Does there have to be something wrong, for me to talk to you?" 

Harry shook his head sheepishly, "No no! Not at all! I just assumed... sorry."

Cedric smiled and took out a piece of folded parchment from his back pocket, giving it for Harry to read. From the messy handwriting, Harry could just make out a...

_Well that's puzzling._

"Is this, your address?" he asked. Now it was Cedric's turn to be sheepish, his eyes having wandered and stuck to looking outside the window, avoiding Harry.

"Yeah! I, uh, thought that, if you needed someone to talk to... Er...I know that I didn't really do anything, and that, what I went through was nothing compared to what you  _did_ but ...um...."

"I can write and talk to you?" Harry finished his sentence. Cedric glanced at him and flashed an embarrassed but brilliant smile,

"Yeah. Yes exactly... Anytime."

Harry folded the paper. In the last few weeks, his head had been full of the nightmares in the graveyard. His life dedicated to long hours of self-forced insomnia, and on the days he did sleep; the sweaty and dirty feeling he woke up with in the morning, the nausea and dread, all clung to him afterward. It killed him to keep it underneath, to tell no one, not even Ron, Hermione, or even Dumbledore. Too gritty were the details, too real was the night, and too lonely did Harry become in the process; he thought it would be his new reality.

"Well, thank you, Cedric." he said quietly. Unable to turn his head, Cedric clenched his fist.

"Was this, er, a dumb idea?" he asked quietly, still looking at the window. He felt Harry lightly slap his knee, forcing him to turn and look forward.

Harry grinned. His face and body relaxed and lit up with a sort-of glad warmth and brightness that Cedric hadn't seen before. He could hear and see Harry saying something,  _something_  about how he  _"appreciated this"_ and _"how it's nice to have someone who was there to talk to_..." but it all faded when Cedric saw Harry's eyes, how they caught the green slopes and glassy water reflected from the train's window. He watched as sunlight danced from his glasses to his irises, how when he smiled they turned into crescents, his cheeks, full. And as Cedric stared and stared and stared, focused yet distracted, he stopped... he couldn't— he just,

"Wow," Cedric breathed.

"Yeah I know," Harry shook his head, none the wiser, "Ron and Hermione are basically my only wizard friends. I only know stuff about our world when they mention it in their letters,"

Still distracted, Cedric nodded and tried to prop his head on his elbow, forgetting that his elbow didn't have anything to lean on. The shift of weight threw his body forward, and propelled him into a rough collision with the floor.

"Are-! Are you okay?!" Shocked, Harry knelt down and offered his hand. Cedric took it but in his dumb daze, soon broke down into a mess of snorts and giggles, which made Harry only struggle more to get him up from floor properly.

"What a champion I am!" Cedric remarked, contagious in between laughter, and despite himself Harry crumbled to it as well; breaking into his own bubble of chuckles. 

"Pen pals then? Dare I say, friends?" Cedric said.

"Friends," Harry nodded, "We're already on first name basis right?"

"Oh right," Cedric said, smiling wider as Harry laughed at him.

"By the way Cedric, are you alright? You kinda look like a.. er.. tomato?"

"Oh I—"

Suddenly the door opened and Cho burst in, still in her uniform. Realizing that he had still held onto Harry's hand, Cedric snatched his away.

"Oh, sorry Harry!" Cho said, surprised by his presence. "Your friends were outside, saying that Cedric was here so..." as she glanced behind her, Hermione and Ron popped out, waving meekly. Cho looked back to Cedric and Harry, and blinked.

"Um Cedric, why are you on the floor?" she asked, puzzled.

Ron and Hermione peeked at the sight of Cedric kneeling in front of Harry, not quite knowing exactly  _what,_ to make of it. Swiftly Cedric stood up, his nape, ears and cheeks still flushed.

"Just a little stumble," Harry chuckled, gesturing at him. Cedric's ears went an even deeper shade of red. He swiftly patted Harry's shoulders, mumbling an " _Er, yeah, so just owl me whenever you want_ ," before quickly saying goodbye to him and his friends and following Cho out. When they disappeared down the hallway, Hermione and Ron rushed in, their arms filled with sweets; swiftly shutting the door behind them.

As soon the lollies were spilt onto the seat, Hermione made an indignant cry,  
"Uh just saying! We swear we weren't spying on you, I promise!"

Harry, who had shoved a gobsmacker in his mouth, strangled out a muffled and bemused "What?" while Ron yelled  _"Hermione!"_  in disbelief.

"I heard something about owling though? What was that about?" she urged, changing the topic. 

"He just gave me his address. So I can write to him." Harry said, showing them the paper that Cedric had given. Something flickered in his friend's faces before Ron let out a quick "Oh so it's just that?" while Hermione nodded and started to open a box of chocolate.

"Something wrong?" Harry asked.

"Nothing mate, it's just- I don't know, that's a little unexpected, right?" Ron said.

"A little bit, I suppose." Harry shrugged. A brief a moment of silence rest before Hermione sighed and threw her arms around the boys, making them all slump into the back of the carriage seats.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna steal him from you, Hermione." Harry teased, soon regretting it as Hermione threw a fistful of candy at his face. Ron howled with laughter. The cart became as noisy as it had always been, the trio talking about what this summer would be like and making the promise to owl each other every week.

Harry slipped the piece of paper into his back pocket. He hoped that summer would be interesting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this update was so late, I got distracted (for a week). I'm ending the Book 4: GoF plot here and we'll be in the Book 5/OotP narrative in the next chapter.
> 
> Thank you for your patience and kind comments so far!


	4. Feels Like Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its the summer after Harry's bombastic fourth-year at Hogwarts aka the start of Book Five: Order of the Phoenix. Harry is unsatisfied with Hermione and Ron's vague silence, and is irrationally frustrated and angry. However he becomes better friends with some others through pen-paling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be recycling much of Ms. Rowling's original text, (as indicated by the italicized words) in the next two chapters! But hopefully it still flows and reads easy.

Suffice to say, summer, was  _not_ interesting.

Sitting on a swing, Harry stared holes into the Daily Prophet, mind blank and eyesight focusing so much onto the lines of barely legible font, that each of the moving photos and words drifted into waves that soon became blurry and irrelevant.

Truth be told, Harry didn't know why he had become obsessed, reading the Prophet everyday. There was no  _new_  news. Nothing about Death Eaters or Voldemort or even, about the Triwizard Tournament finale, the freak fiasco that filled the entirety of every paper, pamphlet and magazines opinion columns. Seemingly, the wizarding world had moved on from last year's chaos, with only the occasional snide remarks about Harry and Cedric occupying the Prophets ink budget; at least from what Harry could get, as he skimmed and flicked through pages and pages of the editions from the last few weeks.

He sighed and let the newspaper fall, his feet lifting off ever so slightly from the ground so that he could rock back and forth.

In all honesty, it was a bit of a relief to fade in irrelevance. If the Wizarding World was stable and okay, so be it; Harry wanted nothing else. From sitting under the Dursley's front window and tuning into the morning/evening news and Uncle Vernon's newspaper rants, Harry was glad that nothing  _weird_  was happening. No catastrophic tragedies or eerie mysteries. Nothing that reeked so much of dark magic and  _Voldemort_ that it reached even Muggle ears. And in the same way while the Prophet was  _selective_  in its choice of material, the paper never reported on any strange(r) happenings other than Ministry decisions and promotions, the invention of a new cleaning spell and the marriage of a fox and a frog.

To put it simply, there was  _nothing_ wrong. The world, both of them, seemed utterly and ultimately benign. And yet, it was the disconnection that troubled Harry the most. 

He sent letters. Many of them in fact.   
But there was never a constant or even  _consistent_ stream of replies clutched in Hedwigs talon when she came back. Usually when he found Hedwig perching on his window, i _f he was lucky, there would also be owls carrying letters from his best friends, Ron and Hermione, though any expectation he had had that their letters would bring him news had long since been dashed. "We can't say much about you-know-what, obviously..." "We've been told not to say anything important in case our letters go astray..." "We're quite busy but I can't give you details here..." "There's a fair amount going on, we'll tell you everything when we see you..."_

_But when were they going to see him? Nobody seemed too bothered with a precise date. Hermione had scribbled, "I expect we'll be seeing you quite soon" inside his birthday card, but how soon was soon? As far as Harry could tell from the vague hints in their letters, Hermione and Ron were in the same place, presumably at Ron's parents' house._

It was maddening to think about how much more fun he could be having, if he got out Little Whinging. Away from Uncle Vernon's watchful eyes, Aunt Petunia's venomous expressions and (just in general) Dudley.

_And what were Ron and Hermione busy with? Why wasn't he, Harry, busy? Hadn't he proved himself capable of handling much more than they? Had they all forgotten what he had done? Hadn't it been he who had entered that graveyard and seemingly watched Cedric being murdered and been tied to that tombstone and nearly killed...?_

Harry leapt up from the swing, and kicked at the playground bark, sending it soaring over the seesaw.  _The injustice of it all welled up inside him so that he wanted to yell with fury. If it hadn't been for him, nobody would even have known Voldemort was back! And his reward was to be stuck in Little Whinging for four solid weeks, completely cut off from the magical world, reduced to squatting among dying begonias so that he could hear about water-skiing budgerigars! How could Dumbledore have forgotten him so easily? Why had Ron and Hermione got together without inviting him along too? How much longer was he supposed to endure Sirius telling him to sit tight and be a good boy; or resist the temptation to write to the stupid Daily Prophet and point out that Voldemort had returned?_

Harry sighed. He felt too frustrated and discontent, childish and insignificant all at the same time. 

Again it, and  _he_ felt, just too much.

Sitting back on the swing, Harry stared at his hands, his eyes focusing on the creases and lines; the tiny scars, wand and quill grooves that made their mark on his fingers and palms. In contrast to the sky above him, vastly bright and smoothly blue, wholly limitless.. He was nothing  _but_  full of complexity, of churning emotions and tangled strings of a uncertain reality.

For now, the only solace Harry had, was Cedric Diggory.

Honestly, Harry didn't expect the older boy to make good on his promise, or at least, he thought that Cedric would send one obligatory letter during the holidays and himself the same. But these days, Harry can't help but look forward to the sound of Hedwig returning from her flights, having made sure to leave the window wide, wide open these past few days for when she came back.

Hedwig delivered mail everyday due to his subscription to the Daily Prophet but on Monday, Wednesday and Sunday's, alongside the rolled up newspaper, a white crinkly envelope would accompany it; full of scrawled writings that Harry had eventually learned to translate and interpret into  _actual_ words.   
Each letter was detailed, spanning two to four pages, talking about what was going on with the Ministry and all the rumors and talk that wasn't, or  _couldn't_ , be published onto any legitimate paper. To be honest, there wasn't much, and no validating basis or grounds to most of what Cedric relayed but—it was enough for Harry to just be kept in loop, just like any ordinary wizard.

 

After establishing the second week of letters with the lines of  _"Dear Harry, there are no changes today,"_  Cedric had gotten into the habit of describing his holiday, something that Harry  _actually_  grown to enjoy reading as well. 

To be truthful, Cedric's handwriting is just... horrid. But his letters were like vivid paintings, transporting Harry to envision  _every_ little detail, like another magic moving picture.   
Harry could  _imagine_  Cedric running through a field and trying to recapture a lost pet rabbit that hopped over its den; he could imagine Cedric's father, Amos, tripping and falling into a lake while they fished. He could see Cedric climbing a tall tree and taking blurry photos as the sun set, and could see him hunched on top of a sand dune—his breath turning into mist as he waited in the dewy morning to turn from sun-kissed reds and oranges to a misty blue. Strangely, and adding to Harry's little daydreams, the letters smelt like the places Cedric described—like seawater or freshly mowed grass or even black tea and ground coffee beans. In his hands, Harry held places and parts of the world he's yet to see and while it felt a  _little_ lonely; it still filled him up, with something bright and sparkling inside. It was  _so nice_  to just escape his room in Privet Drive, even for moment. But there can only be so many things that could be easily escaped or solved, through pretty words on nice-smelling paper, (sadly).

In his replies, Harry couldn't describe the same amazingly normal things that Cedric was doing. (Though Cedric still loved and  _anticipated_  Muggle life). His letters were more simple, talking about Dudley's antics, and the things he'd find or see in his evening strolls. Sometimes Harry would briefly, just briefly, touch on the nightmares he's been having. Twisted dreams where he was back in the graveyard, with the sense of dirt and gritty grim darkness seeping through the landscape. Harry didn't really tell Cedric that he was having nightmares, or that they were specific dreams about  _that_  night. But all he ever needed to say was  _"I had a bad dream again"_ , and Cedric, could easily read into the weight of those words.

 

The first time Harry mentioned his dreams, Cedric had sent him bunched daisies tied with string, along with instructions to boil them into chamomile tea. On that day, Petunia and Vernon were initially and  _still_  mystified by Harry's use of the kettle, while Dudley  _still_  made fun of Harry for carrying flowers in the house. But Harry couldn't care any less. From then on, his nights were relatively quiet and the dreams, while they still happened, no longer woke him up in cold sweat; making it  _easier_  to forget them the next morning.

Cedric would talk about nightmares too. He apparently kept seeing the same one over and over again, sometimes unable to force himself to sleep, dreading the scents and imagery that he'd re-live each night. When consulting Hermione about a way to relax, Harry could hear her chiding voice as she wrote an entire paragraph on first-year potions and self-care,  _"Harry, even in the Muggle world, people know that the scent of flowers and lavender help people relax!"_  she said. (It was the longest response he'd gotten out of her, this summer).

So from then on, Harry would pick and send two spruces, with three sticks of incense from Mrs Figg's kind donations. And so, Cedric's letters began to smell like both his travels  _and_  a hint of crushed lavender.

 

Honestly it was a strange exchange. And even now, Harry blushed thinking about how it looked out-of-context.  _  
_

 _Two people sending each other handwritten letters, with flowers and incense?_ Never mind the fact that they were also both an odd pair in their world, dubbed the  _Boys Who Lied._

But at his core, Harry really didn't mind. Maybe it was because of Ron and Hermione's absence, maybe he felt stronger, more emotional than usual, but Harry was glad to be friends with Cedric; even if they  _were,_ bonded by unsavory circumstances.

As he smiled, Harry _did not know how long he had sat on the swing before the sound of voices interrupted his musings and he looked up._ _One of them was singing a loud, crude song. The others were laughing. A soft ticking noise came from several expensive racing bikes that they were wheeling along. Harry knew who those people were. The figure in front was unmistakably his cousin, Dudley Dursley, wending his way home, accompanied by his faithful gang._

Something in Harry flickered.

 _If Dudley's crew notices me, there'll definitely be a fight._ He was all too ready for it.   
Knowing Dudley, he would be too afraid to start it, but his other mates ...  _they have no idea_. Maybe Harry could vent his lingering frustration out, if  _only_  they would notice him.

If only.

But as soon as he had the thought, the crudely sung notes and the low, hollering voices calling out to Dudley as "Big D" would fade; the boys on their bikes disappearing as they turned around the corner.

Disappointed, Harry shook his head, recounting his promise to Molly  _and_ Sirius about laying low —though the latter wouldn't bedisappointed,  _exactly,_ if he drew out his wand—

Harry picked up the Prophet and left the swing-set, trailing after Dudley's gang and catching up to his cousin just after all his friends biked off.

 Dudley flinched and grunted as Harry waved a cheery "Hello!", their relationship was ever limited and tense since Harry had blown up Aunt Marjorie all those years ago.

Harry grinned. 

It was just the way he liked.

 

_"So who've you been beating up tonight?" he asked, his grin fading, "Another ten-year-old? I know you did Mark_ _Evans two nights ago —"_

_"He was asking for it," snarled Dudley._

_"Oh yeah?"_

_"He cheeked me."_

_"Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on_ _its hind legs? 'Cause that's not cheek, Dud, that's true . . ."_

This exchange, with Dudley's fists curled and jaw clenched and Harry's skippy walk and light-hearted demeanour continued as they walked back home. Turning into the tunnel, none of them noticed how the once blue sky clouded over, a low rumble threatening beyond the horizon.

Harry rubbed his arms, suddenly cold, but didn't mind how the lights in the tunnel flickered. Something felt wrong but Dudley had said something that flared not only Harry's rage, but also some sort of fear that webbed inside his stomach. With his wand out, and Dudley circling him uneasily, none of them would notice the wisps of floating black cloth that would soon entwine around their bodies; and how behind the corner, two hooded horrors called Dementors watched, waiting for  _one_  moment, where they could swoop in and eventually dement poor, poor Dudley.

...

Harry slammed the door, his breathing shallow and fast, sweat from a raging heart dripping down his nape.

_I've just been attacked by Dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts.  
_

Harry copied these words onto four separate pieces of parchment the moment he reached the desk in his dark bedroom. He made quick, thick strokes against the parchments, addressing the first to Sirius, second to Ron, third to Hermione and the final fourth to Cedric. His mind was still spinning. The strange presence and encounter of two  **D** **ementors**  in  _Little Whinging_ , the old, cat-obsessed Mrs Figgs' revealed identity as a undercover  **wizard**  AND the screeching fury of Aunt Petunia's  **howler**  all muddling up and melding, into an amalgamation of psychological slish-slosh and goop in his head. Aching from carrying Dudley home and ears still ringing from his fight with Petunia and Vernon, Harry had hardly any time to breathe, let alone process the string of events from the last two hours.

_Up and down he paced, consumed with anger and frustration, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists, casting angry looks out at the empty, star-strewn sky every time he passed the window. Dementors sent to get him, Mrs. Figg and Mundungus Fletcher tailing him in secret, then suspension from Hogwarts and a hearing at the Ministry of Magic — and still no one was telling him what was going on. Why was he still trapped here without information? Why was everyone treating him like some naughty kid? Don't do any more magic, stay in the house. . . ._

Harry could still hear his aunt and uncle fussing over Dudley downstairs as he opened his window, and sent Hedwig off with his letters, hoping for at least one decently-sized reply of the situation.  _They were bound to write back quickly right? They couldn't possibly ignore a dementor attack._ Harry didn't know what do do, he felt so sick and dizzy that he just fell into his bed, burying himself in his blankets and sheets.

_Maybe he'd wake up tomorrow to four fat letters full of sympathy and plans for his immediate removal to the Burrow._

Maybe.

_But with that comforting idea, sleep rolled over him, stifling all further thought._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for these long intervals between chapters. I'm trying to get a chapter out at least every Sun/Mon but that may fluctuate because I have exams in the next two weeks! 
> 
> As always, thank you for your kind words so far!


	5. Dear Cedric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has sent his one-sentence letters out.

Hermione gasped.   
She stared down at Harry's letter, clutching her chest as if in pain. 

In the dim light of the kitchen, Mrs Weasley looked up curiously from her daily horoscope while Ron walked closer to her, struggling to open his own envelope with a blunt butter knife.

"What is it?" he asked, "Is Harry still angry?"

"He was attacked.. by—by,  _Dementors_!"

Startled, Ron dropped the knife which clattered on the kitchen floor and stumbled over to Hermione; reading aloud over her shoulder, his voice growing in volume and shock,  
"He's...  _expelled_?!" he exclaimed disbelievingly.

"They can't do that! He was just defending himself,  _right_  Dad?" Ron said, just as Arthur Weasley walked through the dining-room door.

"Eh?"

Hermione handed Mr Weasley the letter, which he quickly scanned before bellowing "SIRIUS!" at the top of his lungs. Above them, the floorboards creaked and dust filtered down, footsteps making their way across to the stairs. Mr Weasley returned Hermione's letter and straightened his posture, shaking off his earlier morning drowsiness.

"Don't worry," he said, rushing towards Hedwig, who preened herself on the windowsill, "We'll have this entire situation completely handled!"

Ron's eyes widened, "You already knew?"

"Well..y-yes, as soon as we caught wind of it, I sent a letter reassuring Harry tha-"

"Mr Weasley!" Hermione cried, before Ron could even burst out, "Is Harry safe? Is he  _okay_?!"

Mr Weasley's face softened as he nodded affirmingly.

"Harry is  _safe_. We're just waiting for Dumbledore's signal, and we'll bring him straight here, I promise." he said gently. Sirius appeared at the doorway, tossing a coat as Mr Weasley turned around. 

Despite being told of their friend's safety, Hermione and Ron couldn't help the churn of violent unease and guilt stabbing at their stomachs. Mrs Weasley rose from her seat and wrapped her arms around them in a warm embrace.

"Don't worry dears," she said, "Harry can  _take care_  of  _himself_ , and Dumbledore will sort out all this 'expelling' business. Right Arthur? Sirius?" Mr Weasley smiled and Sirius winked in response, before they stepped out into the hallway.

"Where  _are_  you two going?" Hermione asked, following them.

"Protection," Sirius said grimly, "Harry has obviously sent these to those closest to him. And if  _anyone_  intercepts this... well who knows what might happen to them, if even the our prison guards are under Voldemort's influence."

"Yes, Hedwig was supposed to deliver another letter, probably with the same content as yours, to a..." Mr Weasley took out an envelope and squinted at the writing,  _"Cebric Piggory."_

"You mean Cedric Diggory?" Ron asked.

Mr Weasley looked down and read the envelope again, before he doubled back with wide eyes;  
"Cedric Diggory?!" he exclaimed.

"Something wrong?" asked Sirius.

"It's the other boy, from the Triwizard Tournament. The other Hogwarts Champion,"

"What's so bad about Harry writing to him?" Ron said, crossing his arms.

"It's not him, it's his father," Mr Weasley sighed, glancing at his equally worried wife, "Oh dear, Amos  _will not_  be happy."  
...

 

Cedric jolted awake, breathing hard and fast like he had just been choking; his shirt was stained with sweat, his hair slicked against his face and hands trembling in such a fragile way, that even Cedric himself was terrified that he'd break. As he blinked, he realized that his eyes were too bleary, smothering the room in a strange blur of colors and light, and there was a deep uncomfortable sensation that clung around his chest, unable to be wished away. Cedric could only hug his knees and close his eyes, pretending that he wasn't really real, and neither was this.. feeling that swallowed up his entire being.

It was difficult with all the trembling, but he let himself rock slightly forward and back, keeping his knees tight against his chest. Cedric tried to focus on breathing, just like Harry said in his letters, and tried to imagine how his chest rose and deflated as he breathed,   
 _1,_  
 _2,_    
 _3._  
In a few seconds, the smell of lavender slowly drifted by, wrapping around his head and lulling him to relax. Cedric let his knees and arms drop and opened his eyes, feeling his body slowly calm down and became more comfortable, adjusting to the room while his vision sharpened; adjusting to the sensation of sweat and the unbridled heat and dizziness that came with consciousness. He looked over to his bedside table and turned off his lamp, spending just a few seconds more, to watch as fire claimed his last stick of incense—it's trail of smoke spiraling and dancing upwards until it became no more. 

 _I'm ready now,_ he felt, the thought clear in his head. He could feel himself breath a little easier. Cedric opened the curtains, slightly disappointed to see that Hedwig hadn't arrived yet. But he assumed his letter would come later today and moved on. Cedric then changed from his sweaty shirt, opened his bedroom door and descended down the stairs. 

Closer to the bottom, he stopped, hearing the muffled sounds of an argument breaking out in the kitchen.

"I don't want any danger, you hear me?! None!"

"He will be in more danger if he stays, Amos! Old friend, you can't _control_ -"

"He's just a boy!"

"A boy who,  _legally_ , can make his own decisions! Just  _let_  him decide."

There was silence. Then a bit more talk, but now too quiet for Cedric to hear. Soon all conversation stopped, and a few clinks of cups and plates cued Cedric to, as nonchalantly he could act, walk in.

"Good morning!" he said with as much cheer as he could muster, startling his parents.

"Good morning, sweetheart," his mother smiled. Cedric noticed how tight it was. She seemed tired.

"Good morning, son," his father said, avoiding eye-contact. Strange.

Usually he would've been hugged by now. 

 

As Cedric sat down, his mother nudged her husband with her elbow, prompting him to reluctantly reach into his pockets and hand Cedric, a letter over the dinner table.

"Er, a..  _letter_ arrived for you today,"

Cedric took the envelope with some caution, but lit up as soon as he recognized Harry's handwriting. He quickly opened it, not even minding how light it was or his father's protests,  _"Son, come on now! It's family time, no books, letters or newspapers at the table!"_

But as Cedric read, he couldn't fully hear his surroundings, as his hands clenched at the paper so hard that his thumbs began to turn white. He was aware of how closely his parents paid attention, observed him carefully, noticing how his face dropped and how he steeled his jaw, reading over Harry's words.

"Cedric dear, is everything alright?" his mother asked, rousing Cedric from his daze.

"Oh, yeah, yeah I- I just need a moment, hold on," Cedric folded the letter carefully and rose from the dining table, leaving his parents anxious and confused as he climbed the stairs.

Back in his room Cedric paced from wall to wall, staring at the one-lined paper in his hands.

  
_Dementors?_   
_In Harry's Muggle neighbourhood?_   
_Expelled?!_

  
Cedric's hands started to sweat as his mind whirled, trying to think of anything he could do,  _anything_  that could help. He bit his thumbnail, wishing that Harry wrote more information, wrote something,  _anything_  that could spark off an idea like...

Cedric shifted the papers to look at the envelope. He had Harry's address.  
Quickly, he opened his closet and grabbed a knapsack, stuffing a few clothes and his wand inside.

"Cedric?" his father knocked at the door, "Are you alright?"

Cedric opened his bedroom door, surprising him in a mid-knock position.

"A-Are you're going somewhere?" his father asked.

"Yeah," Cedric replied, walking briskly past him.

"Uh, hang on!" Mr Diggory quickly followed him, "Where are you going?!"

"Harry. I'm going to go see Harry."

"Oh... OH! Wait!" Mr Diggory capered down the stairs, "You haven't even eaten breakfast! Why are you going to see Harry out of the blue?!"

"He just,  _really_ , needs some help right now. In his letter he said there were some Dementors in his neighbourhood an-"

"Dementors?! Well why would you go over there?!" As Cedric whirled around to respond, his father caught his arm, holding him in place and continuing, "I'm sure that Harry's got other friends, you don't  _need_  to be the one that-"

"I can't.. I can't rely on that, Dad," Cedric exasperated, "If everyone thought that, nobody'd help anyone!"

"Well.. why does it have to be  _you?"_  Mr Diggory pleaded, his voice was a little loud in this sentence, his breathing a little too heavy, so much that he even surprised himself. Cedric's mother came out to the hallway, her expression worried and tense, as if she was holding her breath and his father; held onto his arm tightly, even though he still refused to look Cedric directly in his eyes.   
It suddenly occurred to Cedric that maybe his parents were more affected by the last trial than he was. He took his father and mother by the hand and sat them down in the dining room again. 

At the table, Cedric intertwined his fingers into one fist, his brain trying to piece together a way to speak; he didn't know how to explain it to his parents,  _Merlin,_  he couldn't even explain it to himself _._

"I... need to go," Cedric finally said. And it was true, he did.

"But you don't even know how to get there, dear." His mother said.

That was also true.  
Cedric didn't have money, Floo powder, or any knowledge about Harry's area to apparate. He didn't even have a clue,  _how_  to navigate Muggle transport.

"Is this something to do with You-Know-Who?" His father said, suddenly angry. Inside his head, Cedric groaned, the mention of  _that_  name bringing back the same sick feeling he woke up with this morning.

"I-I don't know." Cedric said. This only fueled his father's red face, his voice loud and heavy in the air.

"Look, it's not that we  _don't_  believe you Cedric, but if what you're saying is true... I don't want you getting anymore involved with Harry Potter _!_ He is clearly more than  _capable_  of taking care of himself and I am—!"

"No, don't.  _Please_ ,  **don't!** " Cedric said, raising his voice and slamming his fists down onto the table, making such a horrendous sound that it frightened his father into silence. There was moment when it was just nothing in the air. As if Cedric wasn't going to say anything at all. 

"Never mind the fact, that you think I  _can't_  do anything," Cedric said in a low voice, "Never mind the fact that he  _saved_  me, that Harry brought me home to you..."

As he spoke, slow but tense; it felt like he, with all his might, was trying to be polite. Trying to curb whatever in his voice suggested otherwise. There was something intense in his posture, and his lip were set in a firm, harsh line.

Cedric looked his parents in the eye, and watched as they faltered, not out of fear but revelation; their son wasn't angry, he was just  _pained_. They didn't need to see how his nails dug into the palms of his hands, or his knuckles against the wooden table because all his emotions, his fear and anxiety; all of them were laid out, painted right there on his face, in an expression that both hardened and made his eyes  _so_  vulnerable in the sunlight.

"He's my  _friend_." Cedric said, his fingers curling further into fists, "Harry is my friend, and I can't—people think that he's fine _alone_ , and that he can take care of himself and do well by  _himself_  but that doesn't mean that he has to!"

Silence followed, a thick tension that smothered the room. Inside Cedric's head, there was an ocean of words that his thoughts were drowning in, but this was enough _._ There were promises and unspoken things that Cedric wanted to keep, so he just reached over and clasped his mother and fathers hands, looked into their faces and saw that there was no hardness in their expressions; only lines etched by worry, confusion. He knew them well, he was sure that these same lines were also reflected on his own face. But he couldn't just leave it anymore, not like he used to.

"I don't want to just sit still and hope this will all go away," Cedric squeezed his parents hands, " _Please_ , let me go. I just want to help him."

He let go of their hands and for a moment, the room was still and unmoving, and it felt as if his heart was being broadcasted; thudding and pounding heavy in the suspense. 

Then, his father sighed and buried his face in his palms, while his mother quietly comforted him, rubbing up and down his arm with her hands.

"You heard him, Arthur. He-.. He wants to go," Mr Diggory said, lifting his face up and looking behind him. Momentarily confused, Cedric stared into the empty air before suddenly, behind his father's chair; two figures shimmered into existence. 

A large, black dog and a tall man, with ginger hair.

"I  _will_  keep him safe, Amos. I swear," The ginger-haired man said, resting his hand on Mr Diggory's back. He and the large dog went around the table and stepped closer to Cedric, thunderstruck by their presence.

"Hello there, Cedric! Arthur Weasley, remember?" The man smiled, he shook his hand vigorously, "From last year's Quidditch Cup?"

"Hi! Yes I-I remember, er... Sorry, were you there the whole time?" Cedric gripped his bag and glanced between Mr Weasley and the dog, who seemed to be eyeing him up and down.

"Entirely!" Mr Weasley nodded.

"Why...?"

"All will be explained soon Cedric, very soon! But  _for now_ , you want to help Harry, yes?" Mr Weasley asked.

"Of course!" Cedric replied.

"Well then, we shouldn't waste any more time. Come along!" Mr Weasley said, lifting his umbrella to point towards towards the door.

Cedric looked back at his parents.

"It's alright. You're... old enough now." His father said. He smiled, but it was defeated, an expression of deft, acknowledgement. Cedric crossed the dining-room and hugged his parents tightly, kissing them his apologies and goodbye.

"Arthur," his mother said, just as Cedric let go of her hand. She stared at Mr Weasley, her small stature quivering, undermined by the gravity of her gaze, 

"You keep my boy safe, you hear?" she said.

Mr Weasley nodded seriously, and smiled.

"There is nowhere safer than Grimmauld Place ma'am," he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did my best to make sure everything is in the SAME tense! Its a little difficult to write without Harry as the main subject but hopefully it still flows well.
> 
> Thank you for you kind words again, it is surprising to see people who actually still ship this ship, but it comforts me nonetheless. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed Chapter 5. Sorry that its so late, I’m on my last week of exams right now, so please look forward to the Sun/Mon updates.


	6. Rescue and Happy Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is rescued by Professor Moody, Lupin, Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt ft others, and reunites with his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recycling Ms Rowling's words, as indicated by italicized sections. Default formatting are my own stuff.

It had been four days.  
Harry sat on his bed, left alone in the house while the Dursley’s went out for a fun(?) night in town. Meanwhile his door was locked and he had eaten all the food that Petunia had pushed through the catflap of his door.

 _Harry had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to him whether they were in the house or not._ Also, he was no longer as angry as he was in the first three days that had been absent of replies or news from his friends. (Even Cedric missed his annual Wednesday letter).

 

No, now he was just exhaustedly sad.

 

_He could not even summon the energy to get up and turn on his bedroom light. The room grew steadily darker around him as he lay listening to the night sounds through the window he kept open all the time, waiting for the blessed moment when Hedwig would return. The empty house creaked around him. The pipes gurgled. Harry lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery._

_And then, quite distinctly, he heard a crash in the kitchen below. He sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn’t be back, it was much too soon, and in any case he hadn’t heard their car. There was silence for a few seconds, and then he heard voices. Burglars, he thought, sliding off the bed onto his feet — but a split second later it occurred to him that burglars would keep their voices down, and whoever was moving around in the kitchen was certainly not troubling to do so._

As he made his way downstairs, with his wand out, _his heart shot up his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him._

_“Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone’s eye out,” said a low, growling voice. Harry’s heart was thumping uncontrollably. He knew that voice, but he did not lower his wand._

_“Professor Moody?” he said uncertainly._

_“I don’t know so much about ‘Professor,’ ” growled the voice, “never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly.”_

 

Was it really him? Harry couldn’t help but question the fact, given last year’s plot twist. But soon he heard a second voice, soft and gentle, coaxing him.

_“It’s alright, Harry. We’ve come to take you away.” Harry’s heart leapt. He knew that voice too, though he hadn’t heard it for more than a year._

_“P-Professor Lupin?” he said disbelievingly. “Is that you?”_

_“Why are we all standing in the dark?” said a third voice, this one completely unfamiliar, a woman's. “Lumos”._

_A wand tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Harry blinked. The people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing intently up at him, some craning their heads for a better look. Remus Lupin stood nearest to him. Though still quite young, Lupin looked tired and rather ill; he had more gray hair than when Harry had said good-bye to him, and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless, he was smiling broadly at Harry, who tried to smile back through his shock._

_“Oooh, he looks just like I thought he would,” said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. “Wotcher, Harry!”_

_“Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus,” said a bald black wizard standing farthest back; he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear._

_“He looks exactly like James.”_

_“Except the eyes,” said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back._ _  
_ _“Lily’s eyes.”_

 

_Harry could hardly believe this was real._

 

_“I’m — you’re really lucky the Dursleys are out . . .” he mumbled._

_“Lucky, ha!” said the violet-haired woman. “It was me that lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling them they’d been short-listed for the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. They’re heading off to the prize-giving right now. . . . Or they think they are.”_

_Harry had a fleeting vision of Uncle Vernon’s face when he realized there was no All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition._ He stifled a giggle.

_“We are leaving, aren’t we?” he asked breathlessly. “Soon?”_

_“Almost at once,” said Lupin, “we’re just waiting for the all-clear.”_

_“Where are we going? The Burrow?” Harry asked hopefully._

_“Not the Burrow, no,” said Lupin, motioning Harry toward the kitchen; the little knot of wizards followed, all still eyeing Harry curiously. “Too risky. We’ve set up headquarters somewhere undetectable.”_

Harry couldn’t help but breathe out and laugh quietly in relief. _Four weeks with nothing, not the tiniest hint of a plan to remove him from Privet Drive, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards were standing matter-of-factly in the house as though this were a long-standing arrangement. He glanced at the people surrounding Lupin; they were still gazing avidly at him. He felt very conscious of the fact that he had not combed his hair for four days._

Patting down his hair, Harry scratched his neck and shoved his hands in his pockets.

 

“I can’t wait.” He grins.

At these words, Lupin smiled his old and playful smile. The violet-haired woman claps her hands and excitedly and even Moody grunts in approval.

“Well then,” Lupin says “let’s go get ready to head off!”

...

Wind-beaten and still exhilarated from their flight to London, Harry stumbled down the hallway, marvelling the set of portraits that hung on the wall. Behind him Moody, Tonks, Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt whispered to keep moving forward, through a dimly lit hallway. As he crept forward, Harry could feel eyes staring down at him despite the portraits already blackened by age and his rescuers, too busy talking amongst themselves to even glance his way.

Harry decided that he didn’t like the way he felt in the hallway. Everything about it, the peeling wallpaper, the cobwebbed chandelier, the smell and glow of the gas lamps, and how the _others’ hushed voices gave an odd feeling of foreboding; like they had just entered the house of a dying person_ \-- all of that multiplied and lingered like a bad smell, threading in and out of his head and stomach. It was only when Mrs Weasley walked frantically towards Harry, was he able to relax; letting himself be pulled into her rib-cracking hug, and letting go of his Firebolt as he sank into her  arms.

_“Oh, Harry, it’s lovely to see you!” she whispered, before holding him at arm’s length and examining him critically. “You’re looking peaky; you need feeding up, but you’ll have to wait a bit for dinner, I’m afraid. . . .”_

Harry frowned as he noticed that Mrs Weasley looked thinner and paler herself. But he didn't any more time to think, immediately grabbed by the shoulders and pushed down the hallway, Mrs Weasley calling to the others behind him.

“The meetings just started.” She said, and they all made _noises of interest and excitement and began filing past Harry toward the door through which Mrs. Weasley had just come; Harry made to follow Lupin, but Mrs. Weasley held him back._

 _“No, Harry, the meeting’s only for members of the Order. Ron and Hermione are upstairs, you can wait with them until the meeting’s over and then we’ll have dinner.”_ She said, pushing him toward the stairs. Harry had never felt this amount of force from Mrs Weasley -- except for when she insisted that he have seconds during dinner -- so he obediently climbed the steps and let her show him his room.

As they walked up, Harry took the time to take in the full majesty of this strange and gloomy house, dusty, old and cramped; but otherwise gorgeously elegant in design. If Harry wasn’t looking, he wouldn’t have the faintest idea that Grimmauld Place was a wizards home, but with the display of moving figures in picture frames, a plaque of shrunken elf heads, and a ten-centimeter hovering side-table that looked a severed giant’s leg; Harry only wondered whether all wizarding homes were as eccentric as this, or whether this house in particular was one brilliant exception.

When he had reached the front door of his bedroom at last, it swung open by itself and Harry’s neck was quickly latched onto, his face sprung by long and bushy hair.

_“HARRY! Ron, he’s here, Harry’s here! We didn’t hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless — but we couldn’t tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn’t, oh, we’ve got so much to tell you, and you’ve got to tell us — the dementors! When we heard — and that Ministry hearing — it’s just outrageous, I’ve looked it all up, they can’t expel you, they just can’t, there’s provision in the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations —”_

Harry could only pat Hermione and try and calm her down, while he strained his eyes to see past a hair-obscured vision.   
It seemed that he was in a high-ceilinged and twin-bedded room, already lit up and Weasley-decorated with bright red and orange lamp-light, curtains, beddings and Chudley posters. A sharp contrast from the green and black house.

 _“Let him breathe, Hermione,” said Ron_ , who pulled her away from Harry, and aptly closed the door. And before Harry could say another word, he heard the clatter of the window and saw something white, gliding towards him.

“Hedwig!” He cried, letting out his arm for her to land on. Hedwig crooned and nibbled his ear gently.

_“She’s been in a right state,” said Ron. “Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters, look at this —”_

_He showed Harry the index finger of his right hand, which sported a half-healed but clearly deep cut._

_“Oh yeah,” Harry said. “Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know. . . .”_

_“We wanted to give them to you, mate,” said Ron. “Hermione was going mad, she kept saying you’d do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us —”_

_“— swear not to tell me,” said Harry. “Yeah, Hermione’s already said.”_

_The warm glow that had flared inside him at the sight of his two best friends was extinguished as something icy flooded the pit of his stomach. All of a sudden — after yearning to see them for a solid month — he felt he would rather Ron and Hermione left him alone. There was a strained silence in which Harry stroked Hedwig automatically, not looking at either of the others._

_“He seemed to think it was best,” said Hermione rather breathlessly. “Dumbledore, I mean.”_

_“Right,” said Harry. He noticed that her hands too bore the marks of Hedwig’s beak and found that he was not at all sorry._

Suddenly Harry felt as if something cold had just drenched his body, from head to toe.  
_I don’t feel sorry?_ He thought, and he felt horrified.   
He looked at their marks again, and there nestled in his gut was a small pit of shame and guilt.  
  
“Did you… Did you both know everything?” Harry asked. “About Mundungus following me, and stuff.”

“Yes.” Ron said. Harry looked at him, his gaze pinned to the floor and arms, limp but clenched in fists by his sides. “Dumbledore came to see-- well,  _scold,_ him after that stunt.”

_“He was so angry,” said Hermione in an almost awestruck voice. “Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary.”_

“I see…” Harry said. He continued to stroke Hedwig, not daring to look at either Hermione or Ron. There was a monstrous amount of emotions that warped and twisted inside him; envy, disappointment, slight gladness but mostly a little twinge of anger.

 _Stay calm._   
Harry told himself. He walked around the room, letting Hedwig fly to the mantle of the bed.

_“So why’s Dumbledore been so keen to keep me in the dark?” Harry asked, still trying hard to keep his voice casual. “Did you — er — bother to ask him at all?”  
_ _He glanced up just in time to see them exchanging a look that told him he was behaving just as they had feared he would. It did nothing to improve his temper._

_“We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on,” said Ron. “We did, mate. But he’s really busy now, we’ve only seen him twice since we came here and he didn’t have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted —”_

Harry scoffed, and turned to look at them. He saw how Hermione flinched as his gaze, and how Ron clenched his fists and his jaw.   
It dampened his growing annoyance, but only slightly.

_“Maybe he thinks I can’t be trusted,” said Harry, watching their expressions._

_“Don’t be thick,” said Ron, looking highly disconcerted._ Harry paused.

 

Thick?

 

“Of course I’m thick, Ron! I didn’t know anything! I didn’t know where you two were, what this place was or whatever the hell is going on; everyone **chose** not to tell me anything!”

“We couldn’t—” Hermione tried to interrupt.

_“How come I have to stay at the Dursleys’ while you two get to join in everything that’s going on here?” said Harry, talking over Hermione, his the words tumbling over one another in a rush and voice growing louder with every word. “How come you two are allowed to know everything that’s going on — ?”_

_“We don’t! We haven’t been in the meetings—”_

_“SO YOU HAVEN’T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU’VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN’T YOU? YOU’VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I’VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS’ FOR A MONTH! AND I’VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO’VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT — WHO SAVED THE SORCERER’S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?” Harry shouted._

_Every bitter and resentful thought that he had in the past month was pouring out of him; his frustration at the lack of news, the hurt that they had all been together without him, his fury at being followed and not told about it: All the feelings he was half-ashamed of finally burst their boundaries._

_“Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did —” Hermione began._

_“CAN’T’VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU’D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR —” Harry made a furious groan and turned to face away from his friends, making rigid movements like he was about to claw his hair but then changed his mind to punch the bed and then changed his mind again to stomp on the floor until he ultimately did nothing in a fit of anger._

_“WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME! FOUR WEEKS I’VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT’S BEEN GOING ON —”_

_“We wanted to —”_

_“I SUPPOSE YOU’VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN’T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER —”_

As he whirled around, Harry stopped at the sight of Ron standing there, bracing himself; his eyes closed and mouth screwed up tight while Hermione looked on the verge of tears. Guilt and shame, and that drenched-cold feeling slapped Harry in the face again, and he just sighed in frustration; covering his eyes with his hand, for fear that something would crack inside him.

“But why should _I_ know what’s going on? Why should anyone bother to tell _me_ what’s been happening?” Harry said quietly, he didn’t cry. Hermione did though, Harry could hear it in the pin-drop silence of the room. A sniffle, and then a sob choked in her throat because she was trying very hard to keep her lips closed.

It broke his heart.  
Why was he so angry?

He heard the floorboards creak as Hermione rushed towards him, but then she hesitated, wary of being close enough to touch.

“We’re sorry. We’re so, so sorry Harry.” she said desperately. _“You’re absolutely right — I’d be furious if it was me!”_

Harry let his hand drop from his eyes and looked while she tried to wipe her nose with her sleeve. He glanced at Ron who bit his lip, his eyes open now, but still pointed down at the floor. Hedwig was in the corner, hooting glumly while Ron’s owl Pigwidgeon -- previously zooming up, down and around their heads -- sat on top of the wardrobe, with the least amount of energy that Harry had ever witnessed from the usually zany creature.

“I don’t know what to do.” Harry let slip out. And as his voice broke mid-sentence, Hermione and Ron perked up and looked at him.   
Defeat had crumpled his face.   
Harry stared listlessly at the floor, his lips were contorting as if he was biting and re-biting the inside of his mouth, struggling with what he could say. He could feel himself breaking more and more, bit by bit as the silence dragged on.

Hermione shifted forward, outstretching her hand to touch him, but it hovered; not knowing whether _this_ was the right thing to do. Harry noticed her hesitation and tried to swallow, but his throat tightened. His eyes began to prick —  _oh my god,_  he thought. I’m _**terrible.**_  

Turning away to face the opposite wall, Harry tried to mumble words like _go away_ and _leave me alone_. But he halted, feeling something pull him back, and then;

 

He felt two pairs of arms wrap around his body.

 

Ron had stepped forward and guided Hermione’s hands towards Harry and they both began to hug him tightly, as if afraid to let him go.

“We’re sorry for leaving you alone for so long.” Hermione whispered, shaky like she was about to burst out crying.

“For leaving you out,” Ron continued, in her stead. “And for thinking that everything would be alright and forgiven, as soon as you arrived here.”

Harry was frozen, his arms stretched over and away from them.  
He couldn’t let himself accept their warmth, couldn’t let his arms wrap around the Hermione and Ron who embraced him so tightly. It felt wrong -- he, felt _wrong_.

“It was hard wasn’t it?” Hermione whispered, and at that Ron exhaled like _he_ was about to cry;  
and this broke Harry down.

He turned and fell into their arms and kindness, his lingering anger fading away as he pressed his trembling hands against Ron’s neck and Hermione’s waist. He had to breathe out a bit, steady his voice and open up the coil of his throat.

“Yeah. It was.” He said. He rest his chin on Hermione’s head.  
“I’m sorry for shouting and being a brat.”

Ron laughed shakily, wiping at his eyes with his palm.

“Guess we’re all assholes today.” he said.  
They all laughed weakly. And then they hugged each other tighter again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long interval! Exams are over but I'm preparing to give a speech and do some performance.  
> Hope you've enjoyed this character/friendship-centered chapter.
> 
> Thank you all for your warm reception and kind words.


	7. "Hello Harry"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the trio's fight, we're still in Grimmauld babeeeeey!

The nook between Ron and Harry’s beds found itself being occupied with piles of trademark Weasley blankets and pillows, the warm shades of oranges and reds emphasized by the glow of lanterns Hermione and Ron found, scattered in the hallways and old rooms. The group of three all sat, in varying relaxed positions; Ron on his stomach while he stacked a card castle, Hermione beside him, stroking a crooning Hedwig and Harry --  who sat cross-legged, playing with a bauble of light that George and Fred had apparently fashioned to imitate a Snitch. However it only floated lazily when he threw it into the air, drifting back down with an unwavering luminescent glow that was still too weak to cast a proper shadow against the wall. Harry helped himself to Ron’s stash of cookies and biscuits and reveled in the calm sort of quiet that enveloped their surroundings, the atmosphere now changed from the intensity that hung about before.

In this quiet, it suddenly occurred to Harry, that he had not looked at his friends properly during their emotionally-charged reunion.

He noticed that Hermione’s hair had grown, both in length and seeming volume as it bounced ever so slightly whenever she made little motions, alternating between stroking and petting Hedwig. She seemed more demure, in a way, more careful and conscious of her movements. The youthful fullness that usually filled her face had toned down and in her neutral expression, she boasted something more refined and mature; something Harry didn’t think was even possible. However when she laughed, Ron’s attempts to keep one card still, particularly comical at this moment -- her smile spread in that same childish way, lighting up her entire face, all the way to her eyes.  
Harry was glad that her smile stayed the same.

Ron, on the other hand, had just generally grown both in length and width. His shoulders had gotten wider and Harry could tell that his friend’s summer in the Weasley home, contributed to the growing muscle on his arms, and the increase bunches of little flecks on his neck and hands; his skin also, slightly tanned. Ron cut his hair shorter but kept the fringe long and tousled, it suited him in a boyish way, and there was a growing confidence in the way he handled not only the cards but also -- as Harry noticed before -- the way he walked and talked. Like Hermione, Ron looked older in the best way but Harry couldn’t stop himself from seeing the boy he met on the train.  
Ron still smiled lopsidedly, one side of his mouth stretching further up his face than the other and when he laughed, Ron still covered his face with his hands, his mouth staying open and his body racked with his giggles. 

Harry found himself smiling unconsciously as he studied them, pleasantly surprised at how his friends have changed in these long months of summer. He wondered himself whether  _he_ had changed, in similarly good ways.

“Harry…” Hermione started, and Harry quickly cleared his mind and turned towards her.

 _“Aren’t you . . . aren’t you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?” said Hermione quietly_. Her eyes were recovering from it's red puffiness, but her voice was no longer shaking. Harry watched as she pulled on the sleeves of her sweater, thinking how to answer.  
Mentions of the Ministry and the prospect of expulsion clouded his head, a drop of fear mixing into what already felt like a snowglobe of feelings whirling in his body.

“No.” he lied, shuffling closer so his knees could touch both Ron and Hermione. “Besides... _you said it yourself, the people here, **they** can handle it right?”_

Hermione nodded, but Harry could tell there was doubt in her mind.  
He decided to change the subject.

_“What is this place anyway?” he asked. “And who are **they** exactly?”_

_“Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,” said Ron at once._

_“Order of the Phoenix — ?”_

_“It’s a secret society,” said Hermione quickly. “Dumbledore’s in charge, he founded it. It’s the people who fought against You-Know-Who last time.”_

“Voldemort?” Harry quickly snapped up and looked at Ron and Hermione eagerly.

“Harry, _seriously, we don’t know much since we’re not in the meetings...”_ Hermione shook her head. _“Fred and George made these, extendable ear things so we could listen in from outside but…”_

_“Extendable — ?”_

_“Ears, yeah.”_ Ron gave Harry a biscuit and started to draw something out with his finger in the air. “They’re like -- what do you call them Hermione? -- radios?”

“Listening devices.” Hermione corrected.

“The twins _made_ listening devices? I thought technology didn't work with magic.”  
  
“Well they _are_ magic, essentially." Ron said thoughtfully. "I don't know what charms they cast, but you just get one ear close enough to someone talking, and you can hear everything on the other end.”

“The other end?” Harry questioned.  
Hermione shuddered and Ron waved that topic away.

 _“We’ve had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk. Fred and George had to hide them all to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good bit of use out of them before Mum realized what was going on. We know some of the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you_ _know —”_

_“— some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order —” said Hermione._

_“— and some of them are standing guard over something,” said Ron, who looked over at Harry nervously._

“Oh...” Harry paused. “Me?”

 _“We think so, but we can’t confirm it.”_  
  
Harry took a bite out of his cookie, the flavour of vanilla and coconut gracing his tongue.  
“So if you aren’t at meetings… What have you been so busy with? The stuff you mentioned in your letters?” he asked.

_“We’ve been decontaminating this house, it’s been empty for ages and stuff’s been breeding in here. We’ve managed to clean out the kitchen, most of the bedrooms, and I think we’re doing the drawing room tomo — AARGH!”_

_With two loud cracks, Fred and George had materialized out of thin air sitting right beside them._  In Harry and Hermione's cries of surprise, Pigwidgeon _twittered more wildly than ever and zoomed off the wardrobe,_ flying erratically around their heads. Fred laughed and stroked the owl with his fingers.

“Seriously! I know you both are _happy_ , about passing your Apparition tests but STOP doing that!” Hermione fumed, smacking at the twins. George couldn’t stop laughing at how Ron had reacted; his surprise so violent that his feet had kicked over his stacked-castle into a mess of stray cards on the floor.

“Well we’re sorry to drop into you lot, but since this room had quietened down for a while,” Fred smiled over at Harry. “We just _had_ to see if Harry actually murdered both of you.”

“Harry, you should really keep your voice down, you never know who’s listening!” George winked, and Harry blushed and nodded meekly.

“Well, luckily for you, it was just us and your biggest fan.”

Harry paused, taken aback.  
_His biggest fan?_

“Is.. Colin here?” He asked.  
The twins turned to him with dubious expressions.

“Mate…no, _no_.” Fred sighed.

“Alright come out! I know you’re still behind that door, Cedric!” George shouted, without looking back. And just like magic, Cedric Diggory apparated into the room, plopping himself right beside Harry, who was so surprised that he became close to either choking or spitting out his third cookie.

“You were _all_ listening in?” Ron said incredulously.

“Not completely!” Fred says, throwing his hands up in defense.

“Unlike the adults downstairs, we gave you three some privacy! Well as much as we could, we couldn’t help hearing Harry when he shouted _really loudly_.” George said, his face full of glee and shine as Harry sunk deeper and deeper into red-faced humiliation.

 _“You don’t want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out,”_ said Fred, also beaming. _“There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn’t hear you.”_

As Harry groaned for him to " _Shut up!",_ he heard Cedric beside him chuckle, which further inflamed his ears. He lifted his head, and looked at Cedric while Fred and George chattered away about launching a " _renewed Extendable Ear mission"_ and " _interfering reception"_ or something; holding up what seemed to be a piece of flesh on a long piece of string.

Cedric looked down at Harry. He smiled, a great and warm smile.  
In the background, Hermione was desperately trying to grab at the “ear”, stressing on " _how awful it was, last time we got caught using it!"_

“Hello Harry.” Cedric said looking kind-of relieved, but about what, Harry didn’t know. Instead he managed a bashful smile back, as Fred and George strung the ear out of Hermione’s reach, resolving to " _listen into tonight’s meeting and learn **all** the secrets!"_

“Hello Cedric.” Harry whispered. There was so much to say, _why are you here?_  
How did you get here?  
Did you know about the Order of Phoenix as well?  
How are you?

 

But there was no time, right now.

 

“Harry, say something and bar these two from getting into more mischief!” Hermione suddenly pleaded.

“Er...?” Harry turned to the twins who shone brightly.

“It isn’t _mischief_ , when You-Know-Who is involved!” Fred said, miffed. Harry paused.

“Voldemort? They’re talking about Voldemort?!” Harry entreated, his use of his name making everyone flinch.

George leaned forward.  
“They always do Harry, thats the point of the Order! Don’t _you_ wanna know what _they_ know?” he tempted, dangling the string in front of him. Harry glanced at Hermione, whose hard glare willed him away from the offer.

“But Hermione, he's right, we _have_ to listen. We've faced Voldemort every single year in some form or another…” Harry said, trying to choose his words carefully. “What makes it more likely that _they’ll_ confront him rather than us, or even just me?”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but something flashed in her face, as she began to consider Harry’s point. Taking her hesitance as half-consent, Fred and George quickly got up and pranced away.

“Wait, hey! I’m still not _a hundred-percent_  on board with this!” Hermione yelled running after them.

“Technicalities!” Harry heard Fred and George retort back. At the sound of their thudding footsteps, Ron sighed, getting up to go after them. Then Cedric stood, before offering Harry his hand.

“We should probably catch up with the others.” He said, and then he squeezed Harry’s hand. “Talk later?”  
Harry quickly agreed and pulled himself up. As Cedric let go of his hand and turned towards the door, Harry swiftly grasped at his ears; still burning, still red.

There was a brightness in his heart, and it felt like the heat spread and lingered in a wildfire across his body.

He couldn’t make sense of it.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me take the chance to apologise for not getting a chapter out last week, please enjoy this weeks two-chapter update!  
> Thank you for your support so far!! I really appreciate all these nice and kind comments. It seems that the Hedric pairing is picking up a little, and I'm glad that people can see the dynamic between them!


	8. Tragic Demigods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred and George try to listen into the Order's meeting, Harry gets a bit weird while he's angry, Mrs Weasley is (rightly) angery!!

The group of teenagers leaned over the railing of the second-floor, staring at the kitchen door which sat directly below them. In the middle, George slowly lowered his Extendable Ear over the banister, while Fred tweaked it's pair underneath Cedric’s wand-light.

_“You want to be careful,” said Ron, staring at the ear. “If Mum sees one of them again . . .”_

_“It’s worth the risk, when it's a major meeting they’re having,” said Fred._

“You both really do _need_ to be quick.” Cedric whispered.   
The twins both shot him reassuring looks.   
Or at least they tried to _look_ reassuring, but no one could mistake that gleam of excitement that hid poorly behind composed smiles. Harry had forgotten just how notoriously and loving the Weasley twins were for thrill-seeking.  
  
From behind, Hermione whispered rather heatedly, probably still trying to persuade them to stop while they could. It was too quick for Harry to hear properly but in the twin's usual simultaneous response, they hushed her, insisting that she allow them at least a _chance_. As Hermione whipped back from some support, Ron gave a  _What-Can-We-Do_ shrug to her indignant stare.

Meanwhile Ginny appeared at the top of stairs and as she walked forward, she waved a cheery hello to Harry.

“I was looking for you all!” She said, sidestepping and tugging at the twin’s shirts. _“It’s a no go with the Extendable Ears, Mum’s gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door.”_  

The twins stopped with wide-eyed expressions.

_“How d’you know?” said George, looking crestfallen._

_“Tonks told me how to find out,” said Ginny. “You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can’t make contact the door’s been Imperturbed. I’ve been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there’s no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap.”_

There was a brief pause, as Hermione whispered _“See I told you!”._  
But suddenly Fred grabbed George’s shoulder.  
  
“Let’s keep trying,” he said, “We _need_ to find out what the meetings about—they’re all here tonight, even Snape!”

For a second, Harry wasn’t sure he heard correctly.

_"Snapes in the Order?”_

“Yeah! I know rig-Oof!” Ron started to laugh before Ginny flung an arm against his stomach.

“Yeah Snape is on our side... unlike the rest of our _family._ ” she said, her expression turning dark and sour.

“Oh little sister! You’re still angry about Percy?” Fred teased.

“Who isn’t?!” Ginny replied, irritated.  
  
“Er, what’s wrong with Percy?” Harry asked. And Ron quickly began to explain before Ginny could even begin to cuss her third-oldest brother out.

“He was recently promoted as Fudge's Junior Assistant, and you know how Perce is... A year out of Hogwarts and he’s holding a higher-ranking position than Dad.”

“Oh... I take it Mr Weasley wasn’t too happy about that then?”

“No! -- well _yeah,_ but for different reasons!" Ron waved his hands. "When Percy announced it, Dad got really mad, I’ve never seen him get so angry and loud! He was saying stuff about how Fudge just wanted to _spy_ on people close to Dumbledore, wanted to snoop on the Order... They had a big row.”

_“But Percy must know Voldemort’s back,” said Harry slowly. “He’s not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn’t risk everything without proof —”_

_“Yeah, well, your name got dragged into the row,” said Ron, shooting Harry a furtive look. “Percy said the only evidence was your word and . . . I dunno . . . he didn’t think it was good enough.”_

“ _Basically_ , he’s disowned us now.” George quipped.

 _“We should’ve seen this coming ever since he started taking the Daily Prophet seriously,” said Hermione tartly, and the others all nodded,_ agreeing.

 _“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, looking around at them all._  They all froze, _regarding him warily._

_“Haven’t — haven’t you been getting the Daily Prophet?” Hermione asked nervously._

_“Yeah, I have!” said Harry._

_“Have you — er — been reading it thoroughly?” Hermione asked still more anxiously. She glanced over at Cedric as well._  
_“I’m not talking about the big articles..._ I mean like the columns and small news at the back. _”_

Oh.

“Okay, _those_ , I don’t really pay attention to.” Harry admitted. Hermione sighed, relieved.

“It's nothing worthwhile, believe me..” She said, shaking her head. “Nothing true.”

“Well, what do they say?”

At his question, something... settled. Everyone turned away from Harry, as if they didn’t want to answer his question and even Hermione hesitated, biting her lip and casting her gaze to the side.

It was Cedric’s voice that answered Harry, quiet and nonchalant despite the words he soon uttered.

“Well _apparently_ , I’m deluded and you’re an attention-seeker, and we’re both trying to paint ourselves as the tragic heroes and/or demigods of our fantastical story.” Cedric shrugged. “At least those were the words of _one_ particular column I remember reading this week.”

"What?!" 

 _“They just slip you in, like you’re a standing joke,”_ Hermione nervously continued. _“If some far-fetched story appears they say something like ‘a tale worthy of Potter & Diggory’ and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it’s ‘let’s hope he hasn’t got a scar on his forehead or we’ll be asked to worship him next...”_

Harry’s anger started to bubble up again, and he began to raise his voice.

“Are they taking notes from _Rita Skeeter—_?! I can’t believe it!”

“Harry…” Hermione began but he didn't seem to hear her, already stalking off;

But to where?  
Not even he knew.

There was a broiling in his head and something sharp in his chest, and as he paced and moved quickly, suddenly and menacingly, so caught up in his head -- he became unaware of Hermione, Ron and Ginny's worried gazes. Even George and Fred were slightly concerned as Harry began to climb the stairs and mumble in outrage, louder and louder. But before he could fully yell _"Are they actually serious?!"_ at the top of his voice, Cedric had swiftly walked up the first few steps and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder, cutting him off.

“What are you going to do?” Cedric asked as Harry turned back, startled by his touch.

“ _What?_ ”

“You’re walking off somewhere, murmuring to yourself and almost shouting like a madman…” Cedric tugged Harry around to face him. “Well? You must be planning to do _something_ right? What is it?”

  
“I uh…” Harry shook his head, _why was he walking upstairs?_

“Look I know you’re angry, Harry, but we both knew this would’ve happened eventually.” Cedric said soberly.

"Aren't you angry?!" Harry demanded and Cedric pulled him closer by the arm. 

"Not _now._ " he murmured through gritted teeth, and as he turned his head ever so slightly, he drew Harry's attention to the stares of their friends. 

“But!” Harry pursed his lips and looked at Cedric, not even knowing what he could say.  
He had always been under media-fire, and it had always been more personal than he liked; talking about him as if he _wanted_ all the death and instability. But now, it was arguably worse than the wicked material Rita Skeeter had produced during the Triwizard Tournament, and even  _Cedric’s_ namewas dragged into it. 

How could he stay so calm in a situation like this?   
_Doesn't it **bother** you? _ Harry wanted to ask.

But as Cedric stared at Harry, his expression undecipherable, nothing but also something _overwhelmingly_ meaningful all at once; he got the hint.

Getting rageful for a second time, probably wasn’t the _best_ idea right now.

So Harry walked back down the stairs, quieter much to everyone's relief. And as the others carried on, trying to make out the words and sounds coming from the Extendable Ears, he paused and turned to Cedric.

“Are you really okay with it?” Harry asked making an effort to keep his voice quiet, but his question came out a little more accusatory than he intended. Cedric only glanced to the side, giving a slight smile as if Harry said something funny. When he gazed back, he dropped the smile and Harry suddenly noticed that underneath Cedric's usual demeanour; there was something much deeper playing in the shadows of his face, in the tautness of his jaw.

“I’m okay.” Cedric settled, folding his arms and bending over the second-floor railing. “The important people know what we are; like the Order, our friends and _ourselves_.”

Harry nodded. Honestly he still didn’t understand but he  _knew_. The weight of his hand, the meaning of his gaze and questions, and the way he held tightly on the railing; Cedric had read  _all_ of the Prophet, ever since they took up this doom-saying campaign. It was clear that there were things that he purposely didn't mention in their letters; that he wanted to say, in person. 

But again, now was not the time to find out as Fred jumped back, rapidly trying to reel in the Extendable Ear’s string.

“Crap!” he burst out, his sudden volume making everyone jolt and look over the railing. Hermione’s cat, Crookshanks had pawed and attacked the Extendable-Ear, his claws piercing through its flesh and starting a small tug-of-war with Fred.

“Hermione make your cat stop _now,_  or else Mum’s gonna shank us all!” George whispered hastily.

“Crookshanks! Crookshanks, no! Bad Crookshanks _!_ ” Hermione desperately begged, but her cat took no notice, lunging at the ear with an open mouth and biting firmly down. In response, the ear’s pair, which was held by a fearful George -- emitted a dangerously loud and high-pitched whine, which soon intensified and signaled a tragic end to their stealth mission.

“Someone do something!” Ron squeaked.

Harry bolted down the stairs, making his footsteps light as possible as he reached the ground and got closer to the kitchen door. As Crookshanks watched him inch closer, the cat took a defensive stance, guessing at Harry's intentions and purposefully slurping the entire ear into its mouth. Only a shred of it's lobe could be seen, with the string trailing outside of Crookshank’s mouth.

After spending half a minute trying to cajole Crookshanks to spit the ear, Harry decided to go with a milder version of George and Fred's _whack it and go!_ plan, which they kept whispering above. Harry grabbed the string and tried to tug the ear out, but Crookshanks bit down harder on his new toy, the ears pair emitting an even louder whine above.

“I hate your cat!” Harry heard Ron say, and from Hermione’s flustered and stuttered response, he guessed that she couldn’t really argue this time round.

 _Sorry Crookshanks._ Harry thought as he looped the ear’s string around his hand. He then struck decisively, shoving his thumb into the corner of Crookshank’s mouth and forcing him to open wide, while he quickly tugged the ear out of it's toothy cage. The ear floundered onto the carpeted floor and before Crookshanks could recover and pounce, Harry swiftly grabbed it. Crookshanks began to meow and scratch at Harry's legs, but he was soon chased off as Harry slowly swept him away with his foot.

With the fleshy thing still intact and dangling from its string, Harry grinned and triumphantly held up his cat spit-soaked trophy for all those upstairs to see. The twins, Hermione, Ron and Ginny were ecstatic. With the hallway quiet and the high-pitched whine gone, they had escaped yet another brutal scolding from Mrs Weasley. 

Their joy was so _great,_ that they forgot _where_ they were and _what_ they were doing, and so began cheering for Harry and hollering so loudly that it created a racket even bigger than the entirety of the Extendable Ear mess; causing the kitchen door swing right open to reveal a displeased Mrs Weasley standing in the doorway, hands on hips, looking _pissed._

Everyone's heart dropped. Fred and George looked at each other.  
_Oh shi-_

“WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?!” Mrs Weasley bellowed. She stared at Harry standing there, frozen, holding up her most **hated** Weasley Twin™ invention. What followed was a sight Harry had never and would never see again, his eyes widening as he thought about the new shade of red he discovered, spreading across Mrs Weasley's face as she fumed and sputtered. First she began screeching at Fred and George who quickly yelled _“HARRY’S IDEA”_ in unison before conveniently apparating away. She then turned to berate Hermione and Ginny, who cowered behind the stair-railing, for _enabling such nonsense!_ Mrs Weasley was so boisterous that Ron, thinking he wouldn’t be heard, quietly scoffed and muttered _“Wow, am I even here?”_

“I'M NOT FORGETTING THAT YOU HAD A PART IN THIS, RONALD WEASLEY.” Mrs Weasley screamed, not missing a beat and making everyone upstairs wince; even Fred and George who had escaped into another room. Harry began to shrink further into the floor, as he felt eyes behind Mrs Weasley’s back staring holes into him. He guessed that it was the other members of the Order. Mr Weasley, Lupin, Tonks, _Snape_. It wasn’t long until Mrs Weasley turned her wrath onto him, and as he stood up, he could see that more than rage, there was disappointment in her face.

That hit harder, especially with her gaunt and tired appearance.

“Didn’t I tell you that you’re _not_ to participate?" Mrs Weasley exasperated. "That you’re not a member, that you’re too _young_?! Harry, can’t you _LISTEN_ just for once--!”

“Mrs Weasley, it's not Harry’s fault, I swear!” Harry heard Cedric call, and he appeared at the bottom of the stairs making his way towards them hurriedly.

“You’re not off the hook either!” Mrs Weasley snapped, though Cedric waved the notion away.

“I know, because this was all _my_ fault really!” Cedric pleaded. Startled, Harry urgently turned towards him, silently yelling in his head; _What are you **doing**?!_

Cedric didn't take notice.

“Harry was angry and confused earlier," Cedric said, gripping his arm. "I felt bad that he didn't know what was going on so... I asked Fred and George if they had any Extendable Ears left, maybe if we listened in tonight we could've gotten some information.”

Cedric was _lying._  
Cedric was lying for _him_.

Mrs Weasley narrowed her eyes.

“Is this true?” She asked. Harry glanced over Cedric, who nodded his head ever so slightly.

“Y-yes…” Harry stuttered. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t stand it at the Dursleys… not knowing h-how you all were doing, what was really happening in our world -- Mrs Weasley, I’m really _so_ sorry.”

Harry said his own truth, and if Mrs Weasley was reluctant to believe Cedric’s previous lie, she could not deny the line of reality behind Harry’s words. In her hardened stance, she faltered, letting her hands loose from her hips and her shoulders drop.

“Are we… are we grounded Mum?” Harry heard Ron stammer upstairs. Mrs Weasley sighed and threw up her hands.

“All of you are cleaningfrom now on. I’ll have you clearing out _entire_ rooms now every day until they're **done.** " A faint chorus of " _yes"_ echoed upstairs.

"You two," Mrs Weasley said, pointing at Harry and Cedric. "You'll be cleaning the worst room as punishment for today.”

“Okay.” Harry said. He hung his head and stared at the ground. He figured Cedric must’ve looked a little gloomy as well when he heard Mrs Weasley sigh again.

“You’re both forgiven when you clean out the entire room, _but!_ You’re still too young to come even _one floor_ close to the meetings in the kitchen.”

She squeezed Harry’s arm and let her voice take a more gentle tone.

“Got it?” she asked.

  
“Yes, got it.” Cedric and Harry repeated.

“Good.” Mrs Weasley nodded, looking weary but satisfied. Harry supposed that maybe she was tired of getting angry.  
Especially after Percy _._

“Now just wait half an hour longer, dinner will be ready as soon as we finish this already _delayed_ meeting.” she said, arching her eyebrow. She shooed them off and Harry solemnly followed Cedric upstairs, not daring to look back.

It was only when he heard the kitchen door slam shut, that he allowed himself to let out a large and relieved breath, to which Cedric responded with a muffled snicker.

“You’re good.” Harry said, still reeling.

“Whatever do you mean?” Cedric said, his voice hitched slightly; he was playing coy.

“I mean, _thank you_  for saving me but…” Harry grabbed his arm, aghast. “You didn’t have to take the blame. You even lied!”

“Hey, what are friends for, yeah?” Cedric grinned, looking back. Harry stopped, noticing how mischievous he looked, especially when he smiled like that. He shook his head. Maybe it was the lighting.

“Guess I’ve made a troublesome friend.” Harry mused.  
Cedric laughed again.

“Well then, the feelings mutual now!” he remarked.

 _Crap.  
_ Harry thought, he couldn’t deny that.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a vague idea of how this story is gonna branch out based on the canon storyline, but if you guys would like to contribute to it; I made a poll where you can vote for which couples you'd like to see in the future. Either mentioned, or with some side chapters focusing on their story:  
> https://www.strawpoll.me/17059223
> 
> Thank you for your support, and again sorry for the delays.  
> I'll see you next chapter.


	9. Order of the Phoenix (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The teens are resting after the Extendable Ear fiasco, before being called to dinner with some of the members from the Order.

"George, if you tell me whether Fred is bluffing, I'll tell you which twin Angelina prefers." Cedric suddenly said, utterly deadpan and serious as he held tight onto his hand of cards. In an ensuing instant, George's face dropped while Ron gave a sharp whistle, Ginny cackling madly.

Back in Ron and Harry's bedroom, a drawn out, nine-round card game was being played, at Cedric's suggestion. It was a way for everyone's ears to cool after Mrs Weasley's piercing screams, and for time to pass by quickly until they were finally allowed to go downstairs. Trying to raise their spirits, everyone crammed themselves between the nook of Ron and Harry's beds with a hoard of cookies—made out of everyone's own personal stash—and an abundance of blankets, duvet's and even the room's own curtains; covering and cushioning the wooden floor, trying to soften and disguise the inherent harshness of the cold bedroom.

While their moods recovered, nobody took the game seriously until Cedric—halfway through—dubbed it _"The Final Hufflepuff-Gryffindor showdown";_  as if it was an unofficial or preliminary rematch of the Quidditch game that Gryffindor lost to Hufflepuff all those months ago.

Lying and poker-faces weren't as much of an arsenal compared to the social bribery, sabotage and blackmail that suddenly dominated the game. And with four out of the six Gryffindors already out—having lost or folded in the previous rounds—the lone Hufflepuff taunted at their house pride and strength.

So obviously, the stakes were high.

It was Hermione who first went out, a victim of Cedric's diplomatic maneuvers when he happened to mention Viktor Krum, and how the famous Quidditch player would wistfully lament about his short-lived tryst with _"Hermy-own"_. 

_—He still can't pronounce my name right?!"_

_"He's... trying his best."_ —

More unexpected however, was that Ron _also_ folded at mention of Krum, quickly smacking his hand down on the floor as soon as Cedric made a pointed look at him. Harry decided to ask later while Ginny was more blatantly mystified; chiding Ron for being _'so weak'_ that his face grew visibly hot.

"What was it? That valentine you wrote Harry—eyes as green as a fresh pickled _toad_ , right?" Ron goaded, reciting the love poem Ginny had written in her first-year.  
And just like her brother, Ginny turned into furious shade of pink, meekly folding but not before she whacked Ron right in the face.

"Don't sabotage your own team!" Harry exclaimed as Ginny looked swiftly away.

"She started it!" Ron said, and both Harry and Hermione sighed.

It was three against one now, and with Harry, the twins and Cedric left in the game—they continued with some minor secrets spilled.

Everyone lost it when Fred was outed for his recurrent ballroom-dancing-with-McGonagall nightmares, and the Weasley twins found it _specifically_ hilarious and endearing when they found out that Harry had mistakenly called Mrs Weasley _'mum'_ several times at school;

_\-- "Don't worry Harry, we're basically family right?"_

_" **Please** don't use that as an excuse to test your joke-shop products on me." -- _

Even the perfect Hufflepuff could not escape as George exposed—a rather innocent secret, he thought,—Cedric's love for lavendar-scented candles and incense, much to both his and Harry's unexpected surprise. While Cedric laughed and continued the entire round like normal ... like Ginny, he did not _dare_ look Harry in the eyes.

But the opportunity for payback came quickly enough, when in the current Game Six of Nine, he brought up the Yule Ball and the important name of _Angelina Johnson_ to the everyone's attention.

"Hang on, didn't she go with Fred?" Ron raised, puzzled. "So doesn't she _prefer_ Fred?"

"Well that's how I remember it..." Fred said and he narrowed his eyes and glanced at George, who wildly brought his hands up, pleading innocence.

"Don't look at me!" He said defensively. "I didn't even have a date last year, you all were haggling me about it for months before **and** afterwards!"

"Really?! But I _swear,_ when everyone was moshing to the band, I saw you and a girl behind the curtains... snogging..."  
Ginny trailed off. Something washed over her and also Ron, and they suddenly howled in realization.

"No, _no,_ shut up. Shut up!" George said, hurriedly trying to quieten them down.

"Holy shit, George!" Ron said, and he laughed so loudly and violently that he doubled over, his head burrowed underneath a blanket that muffled his chortles. Even Hermione couldn't help it, her eyes tearing up as she giggled behind a closed mouth, lips quivering and shoulders shaking -- she was trying not to laugh.

Fred only stared at George, his mouth agape.

"You _snogged_ Angelina!?"

George sputtered, and then he blushed,  _hard_.

"Well what was I s'posed to do?! She thought I was _you!_ "

"WHAT?!"

" **You** should've done it when **you** had the chance!"

"WHY YOU-!"

Fred threw his cards up in the air and tackled George, pinning him to the floor. They both managed to hook their legs around the other's waist and were soon hurtling across the floor, grabbing at each other's hair and clothes. Ginny and Ron tried to get them apart, still in hysterics, while Hermione approached the fray, trying to urgently mediate some sort of peace.

Back in the nook of Ron and Harry's beds, Cedric scoured and peeked at Fred's stray cards.

"Aha! He _was_ bluffing!" he said, pumping his fist into the air.

"It doesn't even matter, they've both basically folded now." Harry groaned but he couldn't help but find the sight amusing, watching as Ginny slammed her fist against her two brothers heads in an effort to get them to stop brawling.

 

It... didn't work.

 

"I was just going to tell them that Angelina, _lovingly,_ doesn't prefer **either** of them — since she doesn't even know whether they _like_ her or not." Cedric shrugged. "They both needed a push like this, it was important information."

Harry snickered and then turned to Cedric, using his cards like a shield in front of his face.

"Alright then, what important information have you got to make _me,_ fold?" he challenged. Cedric screwed his face up.

"Hmm, let me see..." he said, glancing down at his own hand, looking as if in serious thought.  
Harry waited, expectant.

"Well, have I mentioned that your haircut looks great on you?"

.

.

.

_..Huh._

It was a week after Harry arrived back to Privet Drive when Miss Figgs cut his hair, apparently unable to bear seeing him, look like a ' _shaggy dog'._ She had nearly shaved the entire bottom base of his head, before cutting his curly, bed-headed locks shorter — keeping his forehead and sight clear, but still long enough to become a fringe, flopping over the right way to cover his scar.

Harry paused.

"Nice try, but I don't think _that's_ going to work." He snorted. And looking up, Harry found Cedric staring straight back at him; a slight smile on his face, and his eyebrows furrowed as if he was asking;

_'Why not?'_

It was a look of quiet confusion.

.

.

.

 

Oh.

 

 _He’s serious.  
_ Harry thought.

"Course, I am!" Cedric suddenly burst out.

Ah.  
Harry said that out loud.

 

He panicked.

 "Uh sorr-"

Cedric sighed.

"Its nice that you left your natural curls though..." he said, interrupting as he reached over and lightly swept his fingers against the top of Harry's head.

  
"And it's not that you _didn't_ look good before, you just look better now. More...adulty." Cedric added hastily, he tilted his head slightly when he said _'adulty' ,_ and his lips thinned into a lopsided smirk as he made the word up.

Harry became very suddenly aware of Cedric's fingers, and how they traced all the way down to the shaved underside of his head, light touches grazing between the edge of his hair and his neck.

He had rarely let anyone touch his head especially after that one time Mr Dursley, not willing to _'waste'_ money on a proper barber, chopped it himself. 

But even with the rare few people who _were_ allowed to touch it, like Miss Figgs, Mrs Weasley, Sirius and even with Ron and Hermione —   
Harry had never felt something, _quite,_ like what he was feeling now.

Without saying a word, he let the moment pass and felt the soft pressure disappear as Cedric’s hand retreated back.

"I, er--" Harry fumbled for something to say "...Thank you…?"

And in response, Cedric grinned and looked back down at his cards.

"That wasn't _actually_ an attempt to get you to fold by the way, I just wanted to tell you." he said.

"...R-right, thanks." Harry mumbled. He began to reorganize his cards even though they didn't really need any shifting, his head turning into a melting pot of confusion, surprise and mechanic beeping, like the robot show that Dudley kept watching on the telly; chiming off, stirring and mushing into an ugly mess inside his brain as silence followed Cedric's compliment, or, as much silence that could be had with the twin's scuffle in background.

 _Maybe I should compliment him back?_ Harry thought. But he couldn't actually remember whether Cedric's appearance had changed at all, afraid to bring his eyes up, just in case Cedric was already looking at him for a response. Suddenly a large _CRACK_ echoed in the room; Fred and George had apparated away.

"Alright," Ginny huffed, suddenly appearing in the nook and sitting back down on the floor. "Those two idiots have gone away to sort their issues upstairs."

"I'm glad that their apparating is convenient for _one,_ good thing." Hermione sighed as she appeared as well.

Soon Ginny, Ron and Hermione had all sat down, eager to continue the game and saving Harry for the moment.

He was still confused. And he could feel Cedric's eyes on him, not waiting or anticipating anything.  
Just watching.

But Harry wouldn't have long to ponder on this, as Mrs Weasley's muffled voice could be heard from the ground floor, calling them down to the kitchen.

With Ron eagerly leading the way -- his stomach grumbling ever since Harry arrived -- and the tense Weasley twins reluctantly trudging behind; it wasn't long before they were all welcomed downstairs. The promise of dinner and a hint of warm light surprising them, and gracing the dark hallway.

After Ginny and Ron's noses were pinched upon entering the kitchen door, Harry and Cedric attempted to apologise to Mrs Weasley once again, but she waved their words away; fussing particularly over Harry's _'bony frame'_ and pointing them to either help out or sit at the dinner table. 

Harry took the moment to look around slightly, noticing how  _many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of them, littered with rolls of paper, goblets, empty wine bottles and a heap of what appeared to be rags._ However most of the Order had seemingly left including, thankfully, Snape; who was nowhere in sight within the gloomy room which like the rest of house, was dimly lit, its wallpaper peeling and floorboards creaking with every step.

The kitchen was expensively antique, its melding with a dining room, immaculate in Victorian-Gothic colors, ornaments and styled furniture; however everything looked worn, unkept, and old, destroying whatever classic architectural elegance it had at first glance. (Or at least that's how the Dursley's home magazines would critique the place.) From what Harry could see, _most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room,_ and some gas lamps that flickered overhead. At the end of the dining table, a lantern had been placed, illuminating Mr Weasley and Bill -- his eldest son -- who were deep in hushed conversation while pointing at an open parchment. As Harry approached, eager to see what the parchment contained, Billy noticed him and hurriedly scrambled to clean up. Mr Weasley jumped to his feet and bounded forward to greet him.

_"Harry!" he said, shaking his hand vigorously. "Good to see you!"_

Like his wife, Mr Weasley looked visibly weary, with his eyes a little dimmer than what Harry could recall, and his red hair balding, suit hanging on his body as if it was slightly too big for him. Over his shoulder Harry glanced at Bill _who still wore his long ginger hair in a ponytail, hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left on the table._

_"Journey all right, Harry?" Bill called, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. "Mad Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, then?"_

_"He tried," said Tonks, striding over to help Bill and immediately toppling a candle onto the last piece of parchment. "Oh no -- sorry --"_

At once Bill lifted his wand and repaired the parchment, and in the flash of light from his charm -- _Harry caught a glimpse of what looked like the plan of a building._

Catching Harry staring, Mrs Weasley _snatched the plan on the table and stuffed it into Bill's already overladen arms._

_"This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings," she snapped, before sweeping off towards an ancient dresser from which she started unloading dinner plates._

Bill gave Harry a defeated, and almost apologetic, smile before hurriedly casting ' _Evanesco!'_ which vanished the scrolls.

"Oh, by the way, have you seen Snuffles yet?" Bill asked.

"Snuffles?"

Bill pointed towards the opposite doorway where, something like a black fur coat lay, on top of a bohemian carpet in front of the fireplace. Harry walked closer and the ' _coat'_ , noticing his presence, sat up, stretching it's jaw and giving a little whiny yawn. At this, Harry's spirits suddenly began to rise, not _just_ because of the smell of stew and meat that wafted in the kitchen and nor, was it solely the bustle and loud bantering that he had missed all summer; decorated his surroundings as everyone prepared to set the table and help with dinner -- though they all attributed to his warm feeling --

No, it was the presence of the large black dog sitting in front of him, it's head cocked and tail wagging eagerly. The dog's body was draped with a navy, silk dress robe, lined with gold etching. Harry couldn't help but grin widely, it must've been borrowed from Lupin.

He walked closer and without missing a beat,

"Sirius!" he beamed.

There was a moment where Harry swore, that the dog smiled before happily barking in response. Swiftly, before everyone's eyes, 'Snuffles' began to stand on his hind legs and transform into a tall man with dark and curly hair than ran to his shoulders. In an appearance, fuller than the last time Harry saw it, Sirius Black no longer seem even remotely related to the picture of the screaming madman, on the Ministry's wanted posters. His gaze was still fierce, but the light in those eyes and his smile stayed kind.

Harry rushed to hug him, glad that the man who hugged him back felt stronger, that the waist Harry held was wider and more firm.

"How goes it, godson?" Sirius asked playfully. He nuzzled Harry's hair, unexpectedly -- probably a habit that he picked up as Snuffles  -- but it filled Harry with something warm and bright nonetheless.

"I'm.. better now." Harry replied, squeezing tightly. When they let go, Sirius led him to the dining table, attempting to answer Harry's rapid questions of ' _Who, Why, When, Where, How'_ and specifically ' _What'_ by first explaining about this strange house that everyone occupied.

_\-- "Can you believe that it belongs to me? Well… it belonged to my family, the Blacks, but I'm the only one left to live in it."_

_"This house belongs to your family! Really?!"_

_"Of course, haven't you met my mother ? Her portraits in the hallway! Though, I didn't hear her scream 'traitor' or 'scum' at anyone in a while… how strange!" --_

 

Meanwhile Cedric enchanted a red cloth to cover the table, and cast all but one jug of Butterbeer to concoct itself. He began to stir the last jug by himself but Tonks soon interrupted him, knocking over a chair that hit his leg while she flitted over to help Mrs Weasley with the pot. As soon as Cedric was apologized to, Ginny also cried out in pain, Tonks having swung around with a ladle, hitting her and Hermione in their chins and causing tea towels and some silverware to drop in the large cauldron of stew.

Before long Mrs Weasley had politely, but wearily, asked everyone to sit down at the dining table while she scooped the stew into a pot, and Fred and George carried out the dinner plates.

Now at the table, Tonks had begun to entertain Hermione and Ginny, transforming and morphing her face into whatever they requested. Harry seemed too busy to even realize that Tonks face was changing, as he exclaimed in disbelief at his godfather.

"How have _you_ had a lousy summer?!" He said, loud enough for the entire table to hear. Though everyone but Cedric were too involved with their own conversations. Mr Weasley, Bill and Lupin in deep conversation while Ron started to cry in laughter at Mundungus, who Harry had discovered to be the pile of rags he had seen earlier, and his story about stealing stolen cauldrons.

Harry continued to question Sirius.

"At least you're in on the Order and everything! You've been here the _whole_ time!"

"Well the Ministry's still after me and _Voldemort will know all about me being an Animagus by now, Wormtail will have told him so my big disguise is useless._ With the entirety of Britain's wizarding world out for _both_ my necks, well... _there's not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix … or so Dumbledore feels."_

_There was something about the slightly flattened tone of voice in which Sirius uttered Dumbledore's name that told Harry that Sirius, too, was not very happy with the headmaster. Harry felt a sudden upsurge of affection for his godfather._

"And ah! Oh yes, listening to Snapes reports all summer _and having to take all his snide hints that he's out there risking his life while I'm sat on my backside here having a nice comfortable time … asking me how the cleaning's going - "_ Sirius muttered darkly under his breath, and Harry could make out his threats to a couple of hex's he's never even heard of before.

 _"_ Uh.." Harry tried to distract Sirius from his shadowy thoughts. "What cleaning are you doing? _"_

_"Trying to make this place fit for human habitation," said Sirius, waving a hand around the dismal kitchen. "No one's lived here for ten years, not since my dear mother died, unless you count her old house-elf and he's gone round the twist -- hasn't cleaned anything in a-!"_

There was a sudden crash and clatter as dinner plates, which had been drifting between the air and the counter til now, hurtled toward the dining table before dropping abruptly. Some plates landed a bit too close to people's fingers and laps while one, ungracefully, dropped on Sirius's head.

 _Mundungus had toppled backwards off his chair and started swearing as he got to his feet._ While Crookshanks, who had been sitting on Sirius's lap, gave _an angry hiss and shot off under the dresser, from where his large yellow eyes glowed in the darkness._

 _"For heaven's sakes!" yelled Mrs Weasley_. _"There was no need to... I've had enough of this! Just because you're allowed to use magic now, doesn't mean you don't have to whip your wands out for every TINY LITTLE THING!"_

 _"We were just trying to save a bit of time!" said Fred, hurrying forward to_ pick up the plates. _"Sorry, Sirius, mate - didn't meant to_ do it... _"_

 _"Boys," Mr Weasley said,_ lifting the plates onto the table, _"your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you've come of age-"_

_"None of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!" Mrs Weasley raged at the twins as she slammed a fresh flagon of Butterbeer onto the table._

_"Bill didn't feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't charm everything he met! Percy -" She stopped dead, catching her breath with a very frightened look at her husband whose expression was suddenly wooden._

"We're sorry!" the twins cried out almost immediately. Fred rushed to his mother's sides, while George hurried picked up the plates in a stack and laid them out on the table.

"I'm really sorry, Mum." Fred said, his hand on her back, as he lead her to a seat beside Mr Weasley.

"We'll try and lessen the prick-levels a bit." George said tenderly, before quickly mumbling.  
"Er.. no promises though."

Fred carried the pot of stew to the centre of the table, while George fetched his mother a Butterbeer before scampering to his seat. Everyone waited with bated breath as Mrs Weasley didn't seem to know how to react, and Mr Weasley just stared at the table.

"Come, let's eat now." Bill said quickly, before silence could delay dinner any longer.

"Yes, _it looks wonderful, Molly_." _said Lupin, ladling stew onto a plate for her and handing it across the table._ The tenseness still clung to both Mr and Mrs Weasley, but they eventually shook off their previous shock and the table's current nervousness, encouraging everyone to eat.

And so, slightly dispirited, they all tucked in.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM ALIVE!! ! ! I AM SORRY FOR ABSENCE!!! !! !  
> Hope your holidays and New Years (Eve) have been a fruitful and relatively relaxing time! Its 2019 where I am, and we're starting the year with some good ol' Hedric and healthy godson/godfather relationships.  
> Its a bit of a weird chapter sorry, since I'm very much going off the book for this one. Please hang on, until the exposition dumping is finished. I've cut it in half (hence the I in the chapter title) because it'd be too long otherwise.  
> Also for those of you who would ask what kind of haircut Harry got, think of Ootp Movie-Harry but .... its an undercut.


	10. Order of the Phoenix (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner has finished but Harry still has unanswered questions about the Order, Voldemort and the wizarding world.
> 
> Recycled JKR’s work again (italics) alongside my own writing (default format).

_"I've been meaning to tell you Sirius, there's something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a Boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out."_ Mrs Weasley said, as she set down a plate of her most famous rhubarb crumble and custard.

 _"Whatever you like,"_ Sirius replied _,_ his tone light, but almost... indifferent, to Harry.

 _"The curtains in there are full of Doxys, too," Mrs Weasley went on,_ as everyone eagerly helped themselves to a large slice of dessert. _"I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow."_

 _"I look forward to it." said Sirius._ Again, his words were light, but too much so, like a _sarcasm in his voice._ Harry looked around and saw how Lupin stared at Sirius reproachfully.

No one else seemed to notice.

Harry decided to forget about it and soon gorged himself on Mrs Weasley's baking. _Three_ _helpings of rhubarb crumble and custard later — the waistband on Harry's jean was feeling uncomfortably tight (which was saying something as the jeans had once been Dudley's). As he laid down his spoon there was a lull in the general conversation: Mr Weasley was leaning back in his chair, looking replete and relaxed; Tonks was yawning widely, her nose now back to normal; and Ginny, who had lured Crookshanks from under the dresser, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rolling Butterbeer corks for him to chase._

Cedric cleared the table quietly as he stacked his plate on top of Ron's. When he tried to clean the plates, Mrs Weasley quickly took over, with a quiet _"Thank you dear"_ and a pointed stare at the twins, Ron and Ginny. She then waved her wand and animated a sponge to start scrubbing the dishes, the soft sound of water running and the clinks of each plate adding to the general laziness of the table.

Harry heard a muted clap.

 _"Nearly time for bed, I think,'_ said Mr Weasley with a yawn _._ Harry stifled one himself, and as little tears pooled at the corner of his eyes, he wondered whether the mattress of his bed would feel as old or as luxurious as the rest of the house; he hoped it was the latter.

"Yes, we all have a big day of cleaning ahead of us tomorrow..." Mrs Weasley replied, beginning to usher everyone out of the room.

_"Not just yet, Molly," said Sirius, turning to look at Harry. "You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."_

_The atmosphere changed with the rapidity Harry associated with the arrival of Dementors. A frisson had gone around the table at the mention of Voldemort's name._ Mr Weasley, who looked as if he was about to doze off in his chair, perked up; casting a cautious glance at his wife, whose lips pursed. While Fred and George eargerly leant against the table, tugging Cedric to listen in as well despite his obvious hesitance.

 _Lupin, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary._ He blinked rapidly and spoke slow, careful.

"Sirius, I don’t think-"

_"I did!" interrupted Harry indignantly. "I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so-"_

_"And they're quite right, said Mrs Weasley. "You're too young."  
She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, her firsts clenched on it's arms, every trace of drowsiness gone._

_"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" asked Sirius. "Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got the right to know what's been happen-"_

_"Hang on! interrupted George loudly._

_"How come Harry get his questions answered?!" said Fred angrily._

_" **We've** been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!" said George._

Fred cleared his voice and began to speak in a high-pitched voice that resembled his mother's;

 _"You're too young, you're not in the order —_ _ **we're**_ too young?! _Harry's not even of age!_ "

"It's neither my fault nor my responsibility that you two haven't been briefed on what the Order's doing," _said Sirius calmly_ , " _that's your parents' decision. Harry on the other hand-"_

_"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!" said Mrs Weasley sharply. The expression on her normally kind face looked dangerous. "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"_

_"Which bit?" Sirius asked politely, but with the air of a man readying himself for a fight._

"Sirius, don’t!" Remus hissed. Sirius backed down into his seat, but his gaze stayed very much fierce, his body language translating that he remained quite open to a challenge. Mrs Weasley took up the offer. 

"You, I and us _all,_ are not supposed to tell Harry more than he _needs to know."_

 _"I don't intend to tell him more than he_ **_needs to know,_** _Molly," said Sirius. "But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back,” (again, there was a collective shudder around the table at the name) "he has more right than most to-"_

Sirius couldn't get a word in as Mrs Weasley began to argue with him, their retorts touching from reason and logic to more personal jabs — each of their voices and words interrupting the other, quick and sharp but growing in volume. Everyone's heads swivelled between each end of the table, _from Sirius to Mrs Weasley, as though they were following a tennis rally. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned Butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin's eyes were fixed on Sirius_ andMr Weasley sat on the edge of his seat, his hands hovering nervously above the table as he tried to jump into the conversation.

 _"He's not a child!"_ Sirius cried out suddenly, impatient, jolting everyone at the table as he stood up so abruptly that his chair fell to the floor behind him.

_"He's not an adult either!" said Mrs Weasley, and she stood as well, the color rising in her cheeks. "He's not **James,** Sirius!"_

Sirius blinked, dumbfounded as he took a step back. Then a moment passed as in his expression; a quick flash of anger, like the first crack of lightning in a thunderstorm.  
Before Sirius could even open his mouth properly, Lupin hastily jumped into the fray, stepping in front of his friend like a shield, or a wall. _Mrs Weasley turned quickly to him, hopeful that finally she was about to get an ally._

 _"Personally,"_ Lupin said. _"I think it better that Harry gets the facts - not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture - from us, rather than a garbled version from … others."_

 _His expression was mild, but Harry felt sure Lupin, at least, knew that some Extendable Ears had survived Mrs Weasley's purge._ Mr Weasley nodded at Lupin's statement and grabbed his wife's hand.

 _"Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly."_  he said, speaking up. _"He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in, to a certain extent, now that he is staying at Headquarters."_

There was a thick silence that followed his words, as if no one dared breathe less they set something off in the room.

_"Well," said Mrs Weasley, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, "I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has Harry's best interests at heart-"_

_"He's not your son," said Sirius quietly._

_"He's as good as," said Mrs Weasley fiercely. "Who else has he got?"  
_ Harry looked up at her, surprised, while Sirius sighed; holding the bridge of his nose and screwing his eyes shut as if he was suffering from a migraine.  

"Y'know, either on purpose or not, you seem to keep forgetting that — he's got _me._ His _godfather_."

_"Yes," said Mrs Weasley, her lip curling, "the thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?"  
_

There was a flash of something in Sirius's eyes again, but this time it lingered making his expression harden and turn dark. Suddenly he started walking very fast, pivoting as he tried to walk around the table.

Lupin quickly grabbed Sirius by the arm.

 _"Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry,"_ he said sharply, in a voice that was only slightly raised but authoritative enough to singlehandedly snuff the room. Mrs Weasley's lower lip trembled, as she suddenly realized how hard she had been squeezing her husband's hand throughout the entire argument.

"And Sirius, _stand **down**_." Lupin commanded, gritting his teeth as Sirius, who had been struggling against his grip before, abruptly stopped; slowly turning to face forward again, but with his head hung, his expression hidden from the rest of the table. Lupin picked up the thrown chair and set it upright as Sirius sank slowly back into it's cushion; his face tired and pale.

Lupin sighed.

"I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this… He‘s," and he sighed again, " _old enough,_ to decide for himself at the very least."

Lupin turned to Harry.

"What do you think?"

Harry answered immediately.

 _"I want to know what's been going on."_ he said at once.  _He did not look at Mrs Weasley._ He did not want to see what sort of pained expression she had, he didn't want to see the fresh disappoint that she must've felt even after describing him as being as good as her _own_ son. But Harry couldn't help it. He was impatient, having wanted this for so many months, the information blackout driving him nearly _mad_.  
_And Sirius was right, he was not a child._

_"Very well," said Mrs Weasley, her voice cracking. "Ginny - Ron - Hermione - Cedric - Fred and George - I want you out of this kitchen, now."_

Suddenly, interrupting the quiet defeatedness that hung about the air before, _there was an instant uproar._

_"We're of age!" Fred and George bellowed together.  
_

"You too, Cedric, speak up mate!" Fred said, as Cedric glanced wildly between them and Mrs Weasley, looking as if he wanted _no part_ in this mess.

_"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?!" shouted Ron._

_"Mum, I **want** to hear!" wailed Ginny. _

_"NO!" shouted Mrs Weasley, standing up, her eyes overbright. "I absolutely forbid-"_

_"Molly, you can't stop Fred and George," said Mr Weasley wearily._ "Both they _and_ Cedric are of age."

_"They're still at school!"_

_"But they're legally adults now," said Mr Weasley, in the same tired voice._

Mrs Weasley's face turned scarlet as Fred and George hi-fived each other, and then the still reluctant Cedric.

_"I - oh, all right then, Cedric, Fred and George can stay, but Ron-"_

_"Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anwyay!" said Ron hotly._ Then he paused.  
" _Won't— wont' you?" he added uncertainly, meeting Harry's eyes._

_For a split second, Harry considered telling Ron that he wouldn't tell him a single word._

Something sprouted in his head that begged him to give Ron and Hermione, _a taste,_ of what it felt like to be kept in the dark; to see how they liked it. But as Harry considered it, his eyes shifting from Ron and Hermione's earnest expressions across the table, Cedric caught his gaze; his head tilted quizzically again, and his face pulled in that same quiet confusion as before — as if he knew the idea that was squirming in Harry’s head and could only ask _why?_

Once again, something cold drenched Harry's body. He knew that Cedric was probably wondering something else, like, what was taking so long for Harry to answer his best-friend's own question? — but that small glance, Cedric's expression, took out whatever desire was floating in Harry's head, vanishing the nasty impulse into a corner of bad ideas.

Harry took a breath.

 _"Course I will."_ he said, decisively.

_Ron and Hermione beamed._

_"Fine!" shouted Mrs Weasley,_ shethrew up her hands in frustration. _"Ginny — BED!"_

There was a infuriated groan as Ginny stood up to follow her mother outside, slamming the kitchen door closed behind her, and stepping so hard against the floor; that everyone could still hear her footsteps as she walked further from the kitchen. As Ginny raged her way upstairs, suddenly, there was an ear-splitting shriek that added to the din; like a human-sounding security alarm, going off so loudly that Harry and Cedric desperately clamped his hands against the sides of his head. Everyone else groaned, half-heartedly trying to block the noise from their ears while Harry — for some reason — found himself, stumbling out into the hallway, trying to get closer to the sound. Walking down the darkness, Harry followed the screams until he head a sudden _BANG!_ against the wall — the surprise and shock jerking Harry's lit wand from his hand as a woman hammered against a window beside him, screeching.

"Who _is_ that?!" he asked as Sirius charged toward him, _Lumos_ cast, seemingly searching for something on the ground or along the wall. Harry soon realized that despite being placed in between the short curtains that Sirius tried to pull across, the window wasn't actually _window,_ but rather a portrait; a hyper-realistic painting like the ones at Hogwarts, _depicting_ a screaming elderly woman in a black cap.

"TRAITORS! MUDBLOOD _SCUM_!" the woman shrieked madly. Her gaunt face was twisted, with old lines that etched her face like a gnarled old tree. Despite wearing a tight bun, her hair spilled out from her frenzy,  raven-black with a few grey streaks; bobbing up and down as her boney body banged against the portrait, her probably more elegant face warped as she howled obscenities and dirty words. Sirius growled, he held a velvety, dark cloth in his hand.

"Shut up, old hag!" he shouted, and he threw the cloth onto the portrait, hiding the woman from view. As if muffled by the draped cloth the painting's shrieks, which had grown louder at Sirius's insult, became quieter; Harry less nauseated by the overwhelming noise that echoed in the hallway before. The old woman still screamed, the portrait's frame still shaking and making the wall it hung upon vibrate, sending dust cascading and spilling to the floor -- but now the house was nowhere near as loud as it had just been. It was just the sound of Harry's deep breaths, and Sirius's muttered curses under his breaths. Both of them, panting as they had been running several miles. 

While they caught their breaths, Harry had another realization, something that Sirius said during dinner.  
He stared at him.

"Was that," he huffed, "was that your-"

"My mother, yes." Sirius said, breathing heavily. He noticed Harry's staring and shook his head lightly.

"Now's…. it's not the time for questions, at least not about _her_." he said pointing to the kitchen doorway, it's dim light spilling into the dark hallway. "Let's just talk about the necessary things tonight, so we can all go to bed."

There as an urgency in Sirius's voice. As Harry followed him back into the kitchen, he wondered whether his godfather really wanted to sleep, or whether he just really wanted to get away from his mother's portrait.

"Can I ask about it later?" Harry asked quietly. Sirius paused. His fists curled and he seemed hesitant to give an answer but, with great effort, his body let go of the tension and his shoulders sagged. He was resigned.

"Of course." said Sirius eventually.

They entered the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part II is here, with some tense moments between harry’s mom™ and his fun-uncle (funcle); just hang on slightly longer for a half chapters worth of information dumping next time!


	11. Five Seconds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some burning questions are _finally_ going be answered.

_"OK, Harry … what do you want to know?"_

Harry blinked as an abundance of questions and thoughts ran around his head, trying to sift through debris as it wound round and round like incessant hurricane.

There was a sober atmosphere that hung around the kitchen. The only reminders that they were all _in_ a _kitchen_ and not some sort of interrogation chamber were the small noises in the background; Mrs Weasley's animated sponge continuing to wash the dishes and the plates stacking themselves neatly onto the drying rack. Whatever lull, whatever laziness that had permeated before was now gone with everyone wide awake and alert. A small chill had crept into the room, the only source of light and warmth emanating from overhead gas lamps, which flickered ever so often and cast dark shadows on everyone's faces; making full cheeks and bright eyes gaunt and lifeless.

They all sat on the table again, the teenagers occupying one side while the other contained the grim faces of Sirius, Lupin, Bill, Tonks and Mr Weasley; all looking at the teenagers intently, waiting.

_Harry took a deep breath and asked the question that had obsessed him for the last month._

_"Where's Voldemort?" he asked. He ignored the renewed shudders and winces at the name, continuing on._

"What's he doing? I've been trying to watch the Muggle news, and Cedrics been writing to me about things… _but there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything."_

Sirius's face twitched.

_"That's because there haven't been any funny deaths yet, not as far as we know, anyway … and we know quite a lot."_

_"More than he thinks we do, anyway," said Lupin._

_"How come he's stopped killing people?" Harry asked. He knew Voldemort had murdered more than once in the last year alone,_ eager to shed blood, even before he had truly risen into his own body.

_"He doesn't want to draw attention to himself," said Sirius. "It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn't come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up."_

"Or rather, you two…." Lupin said, his eyes darting between Harry to Cedric. "You two messed it up _for_ him."

Harry looked over at Cedric, who look as confused as he felt.

"How?" Cedric asked, perplexed. There was a caution in his demeanour, a hesitance.

"Well, assuming that _neither_ of you were supposed to survive the ritual in the graveyard," Sirius said, and Harry felt Cedric shudder beside him. _"Nobody apart from his Death Eaters were supposed to know he'd come back._ "

"But here we are. You both survived, and have tried to tell the world what you've witnessed." Lupin smiled slyly. Harry give a short and bitter laugh.

"Not like anyones actually taken us _seriously_ about it."

Bill turned to look at him at once.

 _"Are you kidding?" he said incredulously._ Sirius seemed to agree with him.

_"Thanks to you, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of Phoenix about an hour after Voldemort returned," said Sirius._

_"And Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of!"_ Bill added.

 _"So then, what's the Order been doing?"_ Harry asked, looking around them all _.  
_ It was the big question.

"We've been acting on Dumbledore's orders. He's got shrewd ideas about You-Know-Who's plans..." Mr Weasley replied. " _But those shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate."_

"Like?" Ron prompted.

"Like trying drum up an army again." Bill said.

"Again?"

" _In the old days he had huge numbers at his command: witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark Creatures."_ Sirius shook his head. "He's trying to recruit the giants, but they're only _one_ of the many groups he's after."

"Seriously?"

" _Well,_ _he's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of magic with only a dozen Death Eaters."_

_"So you're trying to stop him getting more followers?"_

"In a way, yes. We've been trying to recruit our own people but er… Well, we're doing our best _."_ Lupin admitted, sounding weary again.

_"The main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard," said Bill. "It's proving tricky though."_

"Not _just_ because of what the Prophet's saying about you and Cedric, but also because of the Ministry's attitude." Tonks added. _"_ You saw how Fudge reacted after You-Know-Who came back, Harry — _he hasn't shifted his position at all. He's absolutely refusing to believe it's happened."_

_"But why?" said Harry desperately. "Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore-"_

_"Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem," said Mr Weasley with a wry smile. "Dumbledore."_

_"Fudge is frightened of Dumbledore, you see," said Tonks, sadly._

Harry was incredulous.

_"Frightened of Dumbledore?"_

_"Frightened of what's he's up to," corrected Mr Weasley. "Fudge thinks Dumbledore's plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister of Magic."_

"What?!"

" _But of course, he doesn't want to be Minister_." said Mr Weasley. _"_ Fudge just remembers how everyone was clamouring for him to run after Millicent Bagnold retired."

_"Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore's much cleverer than he is, a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice," said Lupin. "But it seems that he's become fond of power, and much more confident. He loves being Minister for Magic and he's managed to convince himself that he's the clever one and Dumbledore's simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it."_

_"How can he think that?"_ said Hermione suddenly and angrily. _"How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up —_ that Cedric and _Harry_ would make it _all_ up?!"

Cedric suddenly perked up.

 _"Because accepting that Voldemort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope before,"_ he said, coming to a realization.

"That's the problem isn't it? The Minister, he just _can't_ face the idea that You-Know-Who's back so he's trying to convince himself and everyone else that Dumbledore, Harry and I, are just trying to destabilize him."

"Yes, you're exactly right Cedric," Lupin said, a little surprised. "And it extends even further you see, because _while the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort… it's become harder to convince people he's back, especially as they really don't want to believe it in the first place."_

"Fudge is doing all he can to disprove, whatever we, and you," Sirius stared pointedly at Harry and Cedric, "...claim and say. Take the Daily Prophet for example — have you noticed that there hasn't been even one little column dedicated to the Dementor attacks in Privet Drive?"

"Er, yeah… yeah actually." Harry said slowly.

" _The Ministry's leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet to not report any of what they're calling 'Dumbledore's rumour-mongering', so most of the wizarding community are completely unaware anything's happened."_

 _"_ But even if the Prophet or the Ministry isn't, _surely you're telling people, aren't you?" said Harry, looking around Mr Weasley, Sirius, Bill, Lupin and Tonks. "You're letting people know he's back?"_

_They all smiled humorously._

"Unfortunately, we can't be too forthright about it." Tonk said. "Kingsley, Arthur and I would get _fired_ if we ran our mouths off."

"Let's also remember that _everyone thinks I'm a mad mass-murderer and the Ministry's put a ten thousand Galleon price on my head! So I can hardly stroll up the street and start handing leaflets, can I?" said Sirius restlessly._

_"And I'm not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community," said Lupin. "It's an occupational hazard of being a werewolf."_

 

_"But if none of you are putting the news out that Voldemort is back —"_

_"Well, who said none of us are putting the news out?" said Sirius._ He was in mock shock, as if he was appalled that Harry would say such a thing, which was reasonable — considering that he _was_ sitting in a house that served as headquarters for the anti-Voldemort forefront.

 _"Why d'you think Dumbledore's in such trouble?"_ Billy asked. _"Haven't you seen the Daily Prophet last week?"_

Harry suddenly decided to stop being so _selective_ about which articles to read from now on.

"Uh…"

_"They're trying to discredit him," said Lupin. "They reported that he'd been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he's getting old and losing his grip, but it's not true; he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort's return. They're talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too."_

"Does he not care about his social status?" Hermione said.

"He said he's fine, as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog Cards." Bill grinned.

"It's not going to funny when he's taken off to Azkaban for defying the Ministry." said Mr Weasley sharply. Lupin raised his hands.

"In any case, without Dumbledore, the Order doesn't stand a chance so that's why we've been keeping a low profile. That's why there's no fanfare about our cause in the Prophet. And that's why Ron and Hermione haven't been able to owl you as often," Lupin said pointing to Harry's friends. "There's no way of knowing who or what to trust when things are being constantly watched or intercepted outside of this house."

"The Dark Lord is moving in the same way as before, gathering more followers and Death Eaters using blackmail, sabotage, tricks and jinxes, but that's not his _only_ plan. He -" Sirius paused. He, almost nervously, looked to Lupin who gave a slight nod to back.

Sirius took a breath.

"We think that he's trying to obtain something, something that he didn't have last time."

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"Like a weapon." Sirius said, and with that last word, the room coalesced with an electric energy; as if there a shiver zipping up and down everyone's spine, or a cold mist that clung about the room — a bell toll that signaled bad omen, something primal that gripped at everyone's chest.

"But he was so powerful before…" Cedric whispered.

Harry didn't notice it before, but Cedric looked so pale. His fists were balled underneath the table, and pressed so tightly that it was only when Harry grabbed his arm that Cedric noticed how white his knuckles were; and how deeply his nails dug into his palm.

"Yes. That's why such notions are, _very,_ terrifying." Sirius replied, staring down at his hands on the table. A silence followed as everyone mulled over what they've just heard.

"W-what kind of weapon could it be?" asked Harry, breaking the tension. "Something… something worse than the Avada Kedava or-?"

_"That's enough!"_

Everyone looked up to see Mrs Weasley stalk out of the shadows of the doorway, her arms were crossed.  
She looked furious.

 _"I want you in bed, now. All of you,"_ she said _,_ looking to even Bill and Tonks.

_"You can't boss us-" Fred began._

_"Watch me," snarled Mrs Weasley. She was trembling slightly as she looked at Sirius. "You've given Harry plenty of information. Any more and you might just as well induct him into the Order straight away."_

_"Why not?" said Harry quickly. "I'll join, I want to join, I want to fight."_

_"No."_

_It was not Mrs Weasley who spoke this time,_ but rather Sirius and Lupin simultaneously.

 _"The Order is comprised only of overage wizards, wizards who have **left** school." _ Lupin said, as Fred and George open their mouths. _"There are dangers involved of which you have no idea, any of you ..."_

As he trailed off, Lupin turned to Sirius.

"Enough?" he asked quietly. Sirius sighed, and then he nodded.

"Time for bed it seems." he said, giving Harry a subtle look of apology. In defeat and at Mrs Weasley's beckoning, they all left the kitchen, one by one leaving from the table and walking out in the hallway.

As he climbed the stairs, Harry was still reeling from all he had learnt, and more importantly, from all that has been implied.

 _A weapon._ He thought.

He could not even begin to fathom what sort of _terrible_ thing, would have _Sirius_ scared.

…

Harry followed Mrs Weasley, as she led upstairs, her wand alight.

_"I want you all to go straight to bed, no talking," she said as they reached the first landing, "we've got a busy day tomorrow."_

_  
_ She turned to Hermione.

" _I expect Ginny's asleep so try not to wake her up."_ she whispered.

_"Asleep, yeah right." said Fred in an undertone, after Hermione bade them goodnight and they were climbing to the next floor. "If Ginny's not lying awake waiting for Hermione to tell her everything they said downstairs then I'm a Flobberworm."_

_"All right, Ron, Harry," said Mrs Weasley on the second landing, pointing them into their bedroom. "Off to bed with you."_

"Night." Harry and Ron said to Cedric and the twins.

_"Sleep tight," said Fred, winking._

Mr Weasley closed the door as Harry and Ron entered the room. The cards were still scattered around from when they had left, and while a few candles still glowed; the bedroom looked colder and gloomier than it did before, something Harry didn't even think was possible.

They both picked up after themselves quietly, shoving the pooled the pooled blankets and curtains in a corner. Harry put on his pajamas and fed a restless Hedwig and Pigwidgeon, while Ron closed their windows firmly.

"Too suspicious if we let you out every night." Ron murmured, walking near to the owls. "I've only had three orders from Dumbledore, so I have to get _one_ right."

Ron then walked over and bolted the door.

"Kreacher likes to wander in sometimes." he explained.

Harry was too tired to even ask what a _Kreacher_ was and instead, watched as Ron blew out each candle, before settling under the covers of their beds. Harry lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

His bed wasn't as luxurious as he thought it'd be, he could feel and smell its wisened age, but his blanket was warm; and the way he sank into the mattress coaxed out every bit of discomfort that tensed his body. But as tired as he felt, Harry stayed awake, his head somewhat calm despite the discussions of tonight, almost.. empty. He listened as Ron struggled to sleep in his bed, the bed springs groaning as he turned _to look at Harry in darkness; his outline lit by the moonlight filtering in through the grimy window._

"Something wrong?" Harry said, he turned towards him as well. Ron kept his voice quiet as he replied.

 _"What d'you reckon?"_ he said. Harry didn't even need to ask what Ron meant.

_"Well they didn't tell us much we couldn't have guessed, did they?" he said, thinking of all that had been said downstairs. "I mean, all they've really said is that the Order's trying to stop people joining Vol-"_

_There was a sharp intake of breath from Ron._

_"-demort." said Harry firmly. "When are you going to start using his name? Sirius and Lupin do."_

_Ron ignored this last comment._

_"Yeah, you're right," he said, "we already knew nearly everything they told, from using Extendable ears…"_

_CRACK!_

"BLOODY H-!"

 _"Keep your voice down, Ron, or Mum'll be back up here!"_ a voice hissed.

_"You two just Apparated on my knees!"_

"It's hard in the dark!" another familiar voice replied.

As the voices began to shush each other, Harry could only _just_ make out Fred and George's blurred outlines, the old bed springs groaning again as they clambered towards the end of Ron's bed. Harry felt a weight lay gently down at the end of _his_ bed, and with his glasses back on, made out a figure sitting precariously on the edge—as if it was trying to not stand out too much.

Harry felt a sense of deja-vu.

"Is that you, Cedric?" he asked.

"Yep, not a Weasley!" Cedric replied cheerfully.

"Mate _shh!"_ Fred said.

"Why couldn't you have apparated liked Cedric did?!" Ron whispered furiously, Harry could see him rubbing his knees.

"He's had two years of practice! We've had... two months!" George replied. "It's not like we've been apparating everywhere just to mess with everyone, though that _is_ a tremendous benefit to it."

"At least we're in the right room." Cedric added, and Harry could feel the grin in his voice. Ron muttered under his breath but soon settled down, clambering to sit on the edge of his bed as well so that they all faced each other.

"So, a _weapon_." George said, finally wondering aloud.

"Something new, finally!" 

"And something that could be _worse_ than the Avada Kedava curse!” Fred whispered eagerly.

“Did you look at Sirius's face when Harry asked that?!"

"But it;s impossible right? I mean, what's worse than death?" Ron scoffed, and his brothers began to list the "worst" things one after the other, including Muggle bombs, Slytherin winning the Quidditch Cup and finally (though not limited to), Ginny and her Bat Bogey hexes.

Harry began zone out as the conversation went further, the Weasley brothers bickering about about the possible size, form, function and appearance, and absentmindedly looked around. Cedric caught his eye, not taking part in the conversation as well, reprising the stiff form and curled fists that had been in play in the kitchen. Slowly, Harry moved closer down the bed.

"Are you okay?" he whispered. Cedric's concentrated expression broke as he glanced up. "You've been really quiet, ever since we started talking about the Order and the weapon..."

There was a moment, as something flickered in Cedric's face.

"I'm good." Cedric said, and he smiled.  
Harry raised his eyebrows. Cedric had taken too long to answer.

"Really, I am! I was just… just thinking."

"About what?"

There was a small pause as Cedric bit his lip. His face flickered once more, and this time Harry could catch it. The hesitance that rested like a quiet nervousness, as Cedric thumbed his knuckles.

"We need to talk." he said very seriously.  
Harry agreed.

"Yeah, it's been a while since we've done that."

In truth, it had only been four days, but he was very eager to learn all the when, where's, what's, how's and why's that would explain Cedric's presence in Grimmauld; a presence that probably didn't happen until very recently.

"We can't right now though." Cedric said, and he glanced at the still arguing Weasley's. "It's not the time or pl-"

_CRACK!_

Cedric would be cut short as George and Fred abruptly apparated out of the room, the sound of their escape echoing alongside urgent hisses to " _Hide!'_

Suddenly, footsteps outside the door. Rushed and loud, and the door-bolt jolted as if someone tried to swing it open. A wave of panic flowered within the room, Ron making a gargled cry before he flung himself against his bed and burrowed under his blankets, his entire body completely hidden underneath.

Cedric only blinked, realizing that he had no time to apparate away, the footsteps already halted — unlocking the latched door, and slowly creaking it open. In hasty desperation, Harry grabbed Cedrics arm and pulled, sending them both crashing in his bed; the blanket, caught underneath Cedric's side, and only covering three-quarters of their bodies. Harry's exposed back let moonlight spill from the window, lighting up Cedric's tense expression as he tried to breathe quietly as possible.

Hovering at the doorway, the door now fully unlocked and open, Mrs Weasley's head popped in, her eyes scanning the room and trying to discern whether the voices she had heard arguing before were imaginary.

Harry tensed his entire body for what felt like an abnormal length of time, moving ever so slightly. Backwards and backwards, trying to make enough room between him and Cedric.

Shit.

Harry's breath hitched when he realized that he moved too far, his back now hanging off the bed.

_Shit._

In an effort to try and angle himself, Harry's shoulder slipped off the mattress.  
Tumbling backwards, Harry closed his eyes; he braced for impact.

_**Shit!** _

Instinctively, Cedric grabbed Harry's arm and then yanked forward, pulling him up and over; the sound of the mattress rustling ever so slightly as Harry realized that he was lying properly on the bed again. There was a moment where Harry lay stiff, slightly confused over what just happened until he suddenly felt Cedric's arm wrap around him, guarding him away from the edge, and keeping their bodies pressed together.

"S-Sorry." Harry whispered.

”Careful.” Cedric murmured

_One._

Harry kept deathly, still. He took short breaths and without thinking, closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Cedric's chest. That was too close of a call. _  
_

_Two._

Cedric felt Harry lean into him, and held him tighter, closer; pressing his fingers against his back in an effort to calm him down.

_Three._

So close to his chest, Harry felt Cedric's heartbeat, skipping, thrumming quicker and quicker. Almost like it was spinning, spiraling faster and faster.

 _Oh._ Harry thought.  
The _fourth_  second passed.

It was his own heart beating so quickly.  
He didn't know why he felt embarrassed about that. But then,

_Five._

There was a sigh, almost so quiet that Harry thought maybe Ron _hadn't_ closed the window, with the the wind whispering through. But then the door shut with a soft click, the bolt locked again, and the footsteps; they made their way upstairs.

Everyone in the room collectively relaxed, the bedsprings groaning as if it had held its breath as well and Harry felt Cedric's grip relax before he quickly sat up, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed. Harry sat up as well.

"Bloody hell, that was scary!" Ron whispered, his head popping out of his blanket.

"Yeah." Harry breathed out. "You alright, Cedric?"

Harry saw Cedric turn back, saw his lips move and utter, but those words didn't get through as he held Cedric's gaze, suddenly realizing in the full light of the moon that there was something new in his eyes, something different. They were still steeled, bright like that night in the infirmary, but strangely tired. Almost as if the steel had been worn, forged by shaky hands. Harry thought about how pale Cedric had turned during the night's conversation. He thought about how tight and almost small, those fists seemed when they balled up under the table. How Cedric's expressions turned from mild interest, realization and then…

"Oh.” Harry breathed. “You're scared, aren't you?"

And Cedric knew that he wasn't talking about Mrs Weasley.

Hesitance. Uncertainty.  
_Fear._

Harry saw each emotion flicker in Cedric's face.

And then he put on a mask again.

"I should leave before she comes back down again." Cedric brushing him off quickly, and he stood up, getting ready to apparate.

Harry suddenly thought about Cedric sitting alone in his room, reading over the Daily Prophet, reading over lines and lines of snark and wicked words that trashed his family name the way they did to Harry. Only this time, there were _other_ Diggories to worry about. A social status like Dumbledore's that could be demoted. A job like Tonk's or Mr Weasley's that could be lost. Harry's mouth ran dry.

"Are you regretting it? Being with me? Being a Boy Who Lied?" he asked.

Cedric stopped. Harry held his breath.

Of course, _of course,_ Cedric was afraid.

He was near death when he made the promise. Traumatized.  
Grateful to Harry, but not _that_ grateful.

Its different when you’re talking to a reporter, when you’re indirectly confronting someone through the papers. All of this, Grimmauld, the Order, it makes it _real_. It makes everything have _consequences_.

Harry forced himself to count.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

_Five._

And then Cedric whipped around.

Harry's eyes widened as he looked upon a screwed and almost furious expression on Cedric's handsome face.

"Of course not!" he said, so incredulous that he had returned to his normal speaking voice. And before Ron and Harry could even shush him;

_Crack!_

There was a brief silence as Harry stayed frozen on his bed.

A moment of silence passed before Ron quickly murmured, with wide eyes, "Uh.. what was all that about?" 

"Nothing. I er.. got it wrong." Harry said. He took off his glasses as Ron stared at him curiously,

 

So Cedric _wasn't_ regretting it.

  
Harry rustled his hair.  
Was he pleased? He didn't know.

 _Cedric looked angry though,_ he thought.

 

Harry shook his head, and let himself fall back into the bed.

It smelt like lavender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I am trash
> 
> Sorry that it took so long, this was a longer chapter bc of all the mandatory exposition. I didn't get anyone to beta this yet so I'm sorry for the mistakes. I'll amend it later. I'll put up an short .extra chapter tomorrow as an apology for the delay. 
> 
> Thank you for your kind words and support so far!!


	12. Extra: Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cedric runs away, a little angry at our Chosen One.

_Crack!_

Cedric stumbled onto the floor. His mind was whirling from the dizziness and from a slight bout of anger that inflamed his chest.

 _How could Harry think I regret it? That I would go back on my word!_ He thought, huffing as he got up, wobbly and swaying on the spot.

"Crap! Cedric? Is that you?!" Fred's voice whispered. Cedric steadied himself on the bed post.

"Yeah, it's me." He said and the twins quickly jumped out of their beds, helping Cedric up as he mumbled a slow  _"Sorry"_ and something about _"..apparating too fast"._

"I'm guessing Mum didn't find you out?" George said, and Cedric closed his eyes, trying to will the dizziness away.

"Yeah, Harry did some..." and he paused and sighed. "Some very _quick_ thinking."

"Lucky he saved you again eh?" Fred said.

"Mm."

"Are you alright mate?"

"Y-yeah I'm just…"

" _Lumos!_ " and bright light flashed in Cedric's face, blinding him a little.

"Hey!"

"Shh! Quieten down Diggory, the doctors will expect you now."

"It's _inspect._ "

"Yeah, yeah.." George shoved his wand closer. "Well the dizziness is _definitely_ because you Apparated but… why're you so red? Are you running a fever or something?"

Cedric pressed his knuckles to his cheek. Bafflingly, his face _was_ very warm.

"I-I have no idea…" Cedric said.

"Did something happen just now, maybe?" Fred suggested.

Cedric thought back.

 

Harry... was a lot stronger than he expected.

An arm had latched around his waist and he was pushed back into the bed, the blankets piled on top of his body. Harry shushed Cedric with a finger to his lips as the sound of the door creaked open. Someone was there, breathing by the doorway...

Cedric hoped his own breathing wasn't too loud.

He looked forward and saw Harry inching further away, bit by bit, he wanted to warn him not to go too far. Too late though, Harry was beginning to fall and without thinking, Cedric had thrust his hand out and yanked Harry's wrist, pulling him closer until his entire body was within the borders of his own arm. A murmured _"sorry"_ , and Cedric can't remember what he replied back because suddenly there was this gentle, warm pressure; Harry having pressed his forehead against his chest. Cedric tried to press against Harry gently too, finding the divet of his back and trailing up and down every few centimeters. He knew that Harry wasn't much smaller than himself but at that moment, there was an urge to protect him, those wide green eyes that screwed up tight, the hand that curled around Cedric's shirt, the face that hesitated to even breathe.

Even now Cedric could feel the tightness, the nervous still, but also the warmth, the press, the scent of chamomile and the weight of Harry's hands and-

 

"Oh! You're going redder!"

"Mate, are you actually sick?"

Cedric blinked back. He shoved away George's wand away.

"I-I'm fine! Let's just go to sleep." he said, feeling his way around until at last he fell into his bed, vaguely hearing George and Fred say goodnight.

Lying on his bed, Cedric cupped his face.

_Still red.  
_

He was blushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the extra of Cedric gay panicking bc same if you were crammed into a single bed w/ Harry Pottah.


	13. Pancake Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh look they're talking their shit out

Cedric woke suddenly in cold sweat, choking on his own breath, a stream of images flashing in and out of his head. 

Blood dripping down a limp hand. A tombstone wrapped in rope. Dug up graves with empty coffins and Death Eaters that encircled with their warped, smiling masks. Then a green light, glowing stronger and stronger until he swore that _his whole body **burned.**_ The light all too bright, the glow, the searing _heat;_ all of that brought him back to Grimmauld, where he lay hunched over the bed, clinging at his throat in an effort to muffle the coughs and the gagging, as his eyes watered and his chest heaved.

Cedric clenched at the blankets until his breath came easier—waiting for when his heart no longer seized, and his body was empty of the fit—the small whine that built in his mind eventually fading, as he heard the twins rolling around in their beds. Sweating and nauseous, he wiped the drool away and gulped down a cup of water he kept on his nightstand, breathing in, out; shaky.

Forcing himself focus, Cedric drifted to the window, watching the grey sky and the fogged outline of terraced buildings and chimney tops; some smoking but most empty, their windows curtained off and rooms shrouded in that early morning darkness. The world was still, mostly asleep. But Cedric could hardly do the same now.

While the scent of lavender incense lulled him, it was not enough to call him back to bed, the thought of falling back into night terrors too uneasy for Cedric; too possible of a possibility. Instead he took his now empty cup and crept out the bedroom door, and made his descent downstairs.

As he stepped, almost fumbling in the dim light, Cedric became acutely aware of how his chest ached and how his head was strewn in a mess but _thank god;_ he couldn't remember much of the nightmare _._ The dreams, though almost daily, eluded him every single time. Even the remnants that flashed through his head were gone, having slipped away in a matter of minutes, far beyond his reach. He could only guess that he was in the graveyard again, or some form of it; though it would be too hard to tell on days like this.

Cedric rubbed his neck.

There was only one thing on his mind.  _Last night._

 

He could still remember the way his insides churned, how the words, the conversation they had with Sirius, Remus, Tonks and Bill; roped around him until he couldn't breathe, stuffed, taut and cornered. No one else at the table seemed to feel the same. He didn't even need to look, to know that Fred and George were out-of-their-minds excited. That their brother Ron would be a little bit less so but still shining, still more eager than hesitant, and Hermione would be the exact same; _fascinated,_ and—based on what McGonagall's told him—probably already calculating and hypothesizing about the weapon as they continued talking.  _But Harry?_

Cedric sighed aloud.

Harry was.. a lot calmer than Cedric thought he'd be.

When they owled each other, he had always read a sense of frantic in Harry's letters. Disappointment when there wasn't much Cedric could report on, and that _slight_ loneliness, when Harry would write _'Hermione and Ron haven't been able to write to me this week'._ Of course it was just a slight, an assumption of an echo;   
Cedric never knew whether he read it for sure. But when Harry arrived last night—when he, Fred and George listened in to Harry's reunion with Ron and Hermione behind the door—Cedric confirmed it.

There was a hard edge to Harry's voice when he began to yell, like his words were serrated, splintering wood and melting cauldrons, there was seething. Like a fire in his gut. Like every word was spat with smoke and lapping magma; like Harry's head was curled with gunpowder and some kind of festered rot. It happened again in the staircase. The way he stalked off, like a switch flipped at the back of his neck. And how his eyes glazed yet burnt brighter, his face twisted, and everything about him felt coiled and tight. Cedric was half-afraid that he'd be smacked as soon as he turned Harry around back then. It was unsettling, intense. 

And yet Cedric just couldn't leave him _alone_.

 

The little voice of reason would scratch at the back of his head, and it spoke even now, asking ' _Why?'._

_'Why are you so attached?'_

And maybe it seemed so obvious to some wandering passerby, but Cedric knew better than to lean on the excuse; he knew that it was something beyond the promises he made that night, past the graveyard and past the infirmary.

In the last few months, yes, he had read frantic, he had read loneliness and a specific sort of yearning in Harry's letters. But there was also something.. _soft,_ in the writing. Wisping like perfume, there was someone behind the words, who would send lavender flowers and incense, someone beside Cedric's own parents; who would ask about his dreams and well-being. Last night, it was _Harry's_ hand that comforted him. It was _Harry's_ quiet voice that asked if he was alright, that noticed that he was being quiet. And that _stupid_ question... Cedric shook his head,  
 _He even worries about things like **that**.   
_

He was no longer angry, yet he still couldn't fathom why, _why,_ Harry would ask _that_ of all things? 

 

There was a veil. A light that shined so brightly behind Harry's figure, that it hid his face. The Boy Who Lived. Yet he was just, _Harry_. And from what Cedric's seen..

There was simply, much more to him.

 

Cedric continued down the stairs, stepping through and murmuring to himself absentmindedly; he caught the attention of one particular person who had heard his footsteps and before Cedric could turn the corner, a hand tugged onto his arm and promptly whipped him right around.

"H-hey!" a familiar voice said. Cedric found himself facing a slightly sleepy Harry, still in his pajamas, no glasses on his face and with a rather glorious bedhead.

"Oh!" Cedric gasped, lowering an arm that instinctively covered his bare chest, "You're not Mrs Weasley!"

"Oh er-... Sorry to disappoint you?"

"Sorry Harry! I-.. is something wrong?" Cedric watched as Harry fidgeted. It looked like it was hard for him to look at Cedric's face.

"Look I'm…" he started, and Cedric noticed his hands clenching at the hem of his hoodie, "I just wanted to apologize for last night. I'm really sorry."

 _Huh?  
_ "Huh?"

"When I asked if you regretted lying to the Prophet, I.. I'm sorry, I didn't know that it would offend you."

"Oh!" Cedric said, "Right, that…"

He took a moment to think, "Yeah, why _did_ you ask that?"

And at Cedric's question, Harry looked a little pained. He fidgeted again, looking away and back again.

"Can we talk in the kitchen?" Harry said. "I'll-I'll make pancakes."

Cedric opened his mouth slightly, surprised. He couldn't help a little smile that crept up.  
He was _very_ surprised.

"Let me just… let me get a shirt," He said and he rushed up the stairs, throwing on the first thing he could snag from a still unpacked suitcase. Going back down, he felt a little disappointed when he saw the Harry had tamed his bedhead, the hair patted down and smoothed. But Harry only needed to smile for Cedric to forget; the prospect of a sweet breakfast putting a skip in his step as he followed Harry downstairs.

...

The pan sizzled as Harry scooped some batter in.

"Didn't I say _I,_ was cooking?" he asked, grabbing a spatula off the rack. Beside him Cedric cracked another egg into a second bowl of pancake mix.

"I like to help. Especially if it's a meal I'm eating." Cedric replied. 

"No wonder you were sorted into Hufflepuff,"

"Is that discrimination?" Cedric mused, he began to mix the batter. "I feel like it is.."

"I meant it as a compliment though!"

Cedric gasped.

"I didn't know you could do that!"

In response, Harry gave a particularly hard stare that made Cedric erupt in laughter.  
"Really though, you never seem to take any of my compliments well!" he said, "Or is it just because they're compliments from me?"

"'Course not, I just…" Harry flipped the pancake. He heard Cedric say _'nice'_ when it landed and sizzled on the pan.

"People just don't normally compliment me on stuff like my hair or say ... the _other_ things that you've said."

 _'And do the other things that you've done,_ Harry wanted to add but he held his tongue.

"I'm sure you'll get used to it," Cedric said.

"You're not gonna keep complimenting my hair, are you?"

Harry then, suddenly groaned at Cedric's reply; a mischievous smile complete with a half-raised eyebrow as he tried his best to cackle but in quietest manner possible.

"I don't think they'll hear you if you go full Malfoy," Harry sighed, looking up. Cedric scooped another ladle-full of pancake in.

"Well even the walls have ears here, Harry," said Cedric cautiously. Mrs Black's piercing shrieks suddenly rushed back into both of their memories.

"I can’t believe I forgot about _her_ -! But speaking of though, how long have you been _here_?" Harry asked, stacking another pancake on the plate. "You don’t seem as used to her screams as the others did."

"I came on the day I got your last letter. So maybe three, four days before last night?"

"Right.. let me guess, they told you that you couldn't tell me?"

"Well before I could even ask, Sirius came out of his Animagus form to say that you'd be at Grimmauld soon,"

Harry stopped, surprised.

"Sirius revealed himself to you on your first day?"

"Well I don't think he could've kept it up for very long."

"But you weren't surprised? That _Sirius Black_ transfigured right in front of your eyes?" Cedric scraped the bowl for one last ladle-full of batter.

"Oh no, I _definitely_ was. The adorable Snuffles that I've been petting the entire day was actually an full-grown adult man — I was pretty horrified! But Mr Weasley explained really quickly, and I know now that he isn't _really_ a mass murderer, it was the one who..."

Cedric paused, and for a brief second he froze, ladle mid-air. Harry waited until Cedric shrugged it off, carefully scooping the last of the mix into the pan. His hands were trembling.

"I-It was the the man who killed _me_ , in the graveyard." Cedric said quietly and Harry let his own voice drop as well.

"Have you been having nightmares recently?" he asked.

"Had one this morning actually. It's why I woke up so early,"

"Do you remember...?"

"No, no… my mind doesn't, but my body... I still physically er — _react_."

At that Harry flipped the last pancake, before turning off the stove. He moved away from the oven and leant against the kitchen counter, closer to Cedric, facing out towards the dining table.

"Before—way back in the infirmary—you said that you were _knocked_ _out_." Harry said. "You were unconscious, and you had an out-of-body experience… Why are you _now_ saying, that Peter _killed_ you?"

Cedric gave a heavy sigh. He bent over, leaning against the kitchen counter as well but facing away from Harry, toward the window.

"I don't know. It's just… a feeling I have. Or that I _used_ to have, when I remembered my dreams."

"Was there a particular dream?"

"Yes, actually I-.. I had it a lot before you, er, started sending me the lavender. But it wasn't _bad_ or scary or anything. That's why I remember it so well. It was just.. just _really_ strange."

"Can I ask what it was about?" Harry asked. Cedric threw his head back and took a sharp breath.

"Uh well... it was still in the graveyard—they all are, in some form or another—and you were fighting V-... You-Know-Who."

"Keep going." 

"In the dream, when you're fighting _Him,_ it's always in slow motion. Like its blurred to the background, everything.. the spells, the land, you, the Death Eaters and Him _._ The only people that moved normally were the ghosts from his wand; the old Muggle man, Bertha Jorkins, and your parents. They were the only vivid or _real_ presences.”

Harry nodded, "Okay."

"They'd say things, progressively. Like in the first one dream, or first  _version_ of this dream I had, it was the old man who would say that I was so young — too young to die."

 

Harry clenched his jaw.

He agreed.

 

"In the second, it was Bertha. She'd say stuff about how _Barty_ was alive, and how you Harry, were really wringing You-Know-Who's neck in the fight," Cedric chuckled.

"And my parents?" Harry asked. Cedric's smile faded away. "Did they say anything?"

"Well your dad didn't talk to me, he was busy with you. But your mum…"

"Yeah?" Harry said, and he looked at Cedric earnestly. "What did she say?"

"Only that I needed to go back. That she'd... get me to go home with you as well."

Harry's eyes widened a little.

"Did she bring you-?"

"I... I don't…" Cedric scratched his head. "I don't think so. If this dream was real... if it happened... I don't think that those ghosts could be any more than echoes of all those lives that He took. It wouldn't make any sense otherwise."

"Right..."

"But it's not like those people _weren't_ your parents, Harry." Cedric added quickly. "They were for sure. I just don't know if my _resurrection—_ if that's what it was—was entirely your mums doing. They... we didn't seem to have any real power besides being able to distract Him _,_ otherwise we would've helped you, right?"

Harry nodded. Cedric was right. There was no way of knowing and even then, the ghosts that Harry encountered in Hogwarts—Peeves, Headless Nick—they were bereft of magic, just presences in the halls. Even if all those souls _were_ trapped in Voldemort's wand, it wouldn't have been likely for them to retain any wizard power to restore Cedric's life. And again, even then, a wizard able to attempt necromancy would be a stretch.

Cedric noticed Harry's shoulder slump downward.

"Look I'm just spouting things," he said hastily, "It could be that they were victims of really dark, really advanced or _really_ ancient magic. I'm more likely to be wrong!"

Harry smiled meekly.

"Did...Did she say anything else? My mum? In your dream?" he asked. Cedric took a small breath, hesitating. Harry looked straight into his eyes, and saw the grey caught in conflict, in turmoil.

"Cedric, please?"

"She wanted me to take care of you, if I could," Cedric said finally, he closed his eyes like he was preparing for something. "Your mum told me to keep you safe."

Harry felt himself break into a cynical sort of smile, "I doubt that would happen, even with you at my back Cedric."

"I told her I was going to try, it was all she asked," Cedric replied and he looked down at his hands. They were entwined again, the knuckles digging into each gap between his fingers. "I figured I owe you that much, and her as well if she did… _bring_ me back."

Harry thought for a moment.

  
"Are all your dreams about that night, Cedric? Are they always about...death?"

"Yes." Cedric said, and he sat back against the counter again. His arms crossed and his expression resigned. "Every single one that I can remember, even the ones that are a little different — They're basically tattooed to my memory at this point—the voice, telling the man to kill me. The green light. The darkness. Sometimes I'm in a coffinless grave, like I've been buried alive. Sometimes _you're_ the one that dies... It gets worse if I go any further than that."

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to-"

"It's fine. I need to… I _do_ need to talk about it, I think, and I would gladly do so with you but..."

"...Not right now?" Harry asked. Cedric crossed his arms.

"No," he smiled sadly, "...not right now."

 

Harry didn't know why, but his chest began to ache when he saw Cedric's smile. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists and jaw, and his eyes crinkled up and turned into crescents. There was an urge to comfort, an urge to mend and to grab and to heal, but he didn't know the words, didn't know what actions would fix the hurt that bled out of Cedric's every movement.

Ever since Harry met him, Cedric had been always a confident person. He was kind and humble and handsome and all those other praises and things that people would say—but what Harry understood most of all, was that Cedric Diggory was a _self-assured_ person. The entire air around him, the allure, the pull that his presence seemed to command; it was all founded and precariously balanced on the way Cedric seemed almost so… effortless.

As if the way he did things, the way he would approach and be approached, as if it was all in his _nature_ to be kinder, to be stronger, to be better. And Harry had to admit, it had always comforted him, this self-assuredness.

If he fell in the tournament, Cedric would have surely replaced him. He even would've fitted better to the tale of bravery and courage that everyone was trying to spin around them.  
When Harry was alone in the infirmary, Cedric was there; forging a bond, founding the campaign. He had Cedric as another Boy Who Lied, someone willing to face all the backlash and shame, simply because the _truth_ was more important and because he wouldn't willingly leave Harry alone. These things came about _because_ it was Cedric doing the pushing. And all of it was seemingly rewarded, or at least could be traced back to that moment when he miraculously ressurected, when he pulled away from death's kiss and started breathing—in that moment, Cedric had become the _one_ other person that survived Voldemort. Seemingly proving, to at least Harry and those in the Order, that he was the universe's other favourite person. A storybook hero, Hogwarts blessed Champion.

But it wasn't true. Cedric wasn't an _upgraded_ Harry. He wasn't a fairytale prince or a baby born from the stars and favoured by some god.

 

He's just a _boy_.

 

Three years older than Harry?

_Yes._

Strong, and good, and noble?

_Of course._

But he's just a boy, just like Harry.

A boy waging war against a world that he can't fit into anymore, pitted against the most feared wizard alive. Under the heat of the media, voted class dunce on international parchment; already put through enough danger _once,_ before being potentially endangered again — how could you **not** be afraid in such shoes?

Cedric didn't have the time to get used to it, the way Harry and his friends had. And even then, Ron and Hermione still refuse to use Voldemort's real name. Cedric had been thrust into a life he didn't ask for, just like Harry. Plagued by nightmares, having already died once before becoming more likely than most teenage boys to die again; just before his life could even start.

 

_How could you bear that?_

 

 

Harry hugged his arms, "You know how I asked you last night, whether you regretted being with me?"

Cedric perked up, he uncrossed his arms and looked at Harry.

"Yes?"

"I thought—I really did and I still do now—I thought, that maybe you _were_ regretting everything. That maybe you were second-guessing your role in _this._ " Harry said, gesturing around the house. Cedric looked at him intently.

"Why do you think that?" he asked, gentle.

"Because you're scared, aren't you?" Harry said, and it wasn't really a question nor an accusation. Rather it came out, an accurate measure of the truth. So blunt and straightforward that Cedric didn't know how to reply, taking only a moment, but still a moment too long of silence to consider how he should reply.

 

"Of course I'm afraid." he admitted.

Finally.

 

Harry thought back to the image of Cedric's pale face, the nail marks on his palms. The way he was out-of-focus, shaken. He thought about what kind of dreams Cedric was having, being buried alive, _killed_ over and over again. There were red scratches on his neck and arms this morning, and his grey eyes suffocated any undesirable emotion—Cedric put on a mask that hid and covered and guarded like high walls around his heart.

Harry couldn't _bear_ it.

 

"Why do you try to hide it?" he asked, and Cedric's face dropped a little. "Why do you _insist_ that you're fine? Why do you tell me 'later' when we're talking now? _"_

"I-"

 _"_ If you regret it, it's as easy as telling the Prophet that I bewitched you into saying everything. You could easily wash your hands of this _entire_ mess, Dumbledore would even help you!"

 _"_ Harry.."

"But if you look at me like you did last night, if you get angry that I make these assumptions and if you truly  _don’t_ regret anything then tell me what’s wrong! We’re taking on the world, and you’re just ‘ _fine’_ about it? You’ve told me that you’ve been getting nightmares for months and yet the only thing I can do is give you flowers for to smell; youwon’t tell me anything! I-.. I just want to help you," Harry's mouth went dry, his hands—previously coiled— now loose, "We’re a team now, a-aren’t we? Aren’t we  _friends_?"

There was a brief silence that crashed upon the two. And as it dragged longer and longer, Harry grew nervous, unable to read the expression of Cedric’s face. He suddenly thought that maybe he was too loud. And maybe he went too far, and maybe this wasn’t the best way to go about it with Cedric, he should’ve been more con _siderate! Why isn’t Hermione and Ron here at times like th-_ **Whumpf!**

Cedric body suddenly slumped over and collided with Harry’s, arms wrapping around his torso, the full extent of his body weight leaning against his own.

 _I'm being hugged._ Harry realized. _Why am I being hugged?!_

"Cedric? Are you alright?!" he asked, panicky.

"Yeah," he heard him say.

"Did I… Did I go too far?"

" _No!_ Actually, I'm grateful."

"You are?"

"You said we were _friends."_

_Oh._

Harry blushed. And before he could figure out why or get another word in, he felt Cedric squeeze him.

"I'm sorry for avoiding the topic, let me speak clearly; I don't regret anything," he said, "-even if I knew properly what I was getting myself into, I would've still talk to you at the infirmary. I would've still told the Prophet the same things, I would've still told everyone else the same, _exact_ things.."

"O-Okay."

"And I _am_ scared. Terrified. 'Pissing my pants' as any normal person would say." Cedric said, and Harry wrapped his arms around and pressed his hands against his back.

"What are you scared of?"

"What's coming. How it'll affect my family, my friends. The nightmares and telling people, especially you, about them."

"What?! Why?"

"Most people don't believe us right now. Even the ones who say they do, like my parents." Cedric said, and it was the first time Harry had heard him sound so bitter. "I’m just so used to worried faces, Harry. Cho, my parents. Everytime I bring up my nightmares, they look like they want to send me off to St Mungos.”

And then he paused, "But _you_ believe me. You always do. I thought you'd think I was crazy, if I talked about your mum or _dying_."

"Of course I'd believe you," Harry sighed. "You can tell me things more often you know. And you can go into as much detail as you'd like, I'd probably prefer that."

"I want to, but I don't know _how_ ," Cedric sighed again, and his body slunk even further against Harry.  
"It's difficult."

"Why don't we start now?" Harry proposed. "Maybe the pancakes could help?"

But at that, Cedric began to laugh. His body thrown and jerked as it bubbled outside him.

“Look, Hermione and Ron say that food has always helped me!” Harry said defensively.

“Of course! Of course!” Cedric exclaimed.  
“But you might be right... Maybe that _would_ help.” And as he settled down, both laughter and body quieting, Harry took advantage of the lightened silence,

"You know, it's okay if it's difficult and if you're scared, and even if you ever regret it." Harry said, kind, soft. "Just _tell_ me. If you'd be alright with it, talk to me. We only have each other right in these bizarre circumstances, right? I want to be here for you.”

And at that Harry felt Cedric let go. He straightened and with a tight expression, but not one out of anger or stress. It was crumpled, as if he was about to cry. A uneven sort of smile pushing his cheeks, his eyes bright and his hands no longer entwined in that nervous habit.

"Thank you." he whispered, like if he said it too loud, someone would steal it away from him. This small breath that he never realized he could take until now.

Harry offered his hand out, and Cedric grasped it.

"Promise yeah? No hiding."

"If we have these pancake talks more often, then yes." Cedric said.

Harry laughed.  
"It’s a deal!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII its me! im alive! yes!
> 
> im sorry for the delays, its harder to stay at my computer during the long ass summer days.  
> this chapter was so long bc i suck at dialogue!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> by the way, hmu at cedricsboyfriend.tumblr.com if you wanna talk to me, ask questions or read some short stuff i write (that may or may not make it into this fic??? idk) im open to prompts though i may not write it every single time. i'm gonna try and reply to all your comments from now on whenever i receive them sorry i've read every single one but im ghosting soRry!
> 
> im so glad that people are enjoying this fic though, thank you for your reception and kind words so far. i hope that this chapter was good???? lmao  
> i second-guess every off-canon chapter i do esp since i don't have a beta anymore. but i am trying very hard to improve so bear with me!


	14. Sidenote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> small change like the cents and pennies that pile in your pocket.

It was subtle.  
Barely noticed by anyone really.

For Ginny, she only _just_ caught the way Harry and Cedric had started to stick closer to each other. Their seats just an _inch_  apart when they sat at the dinner table. Their bodies and feet angled just that _tiny_ bit toward each other even when they weren’t the ones locked in conversation. Ginny wondered how they managed to get so close so fast. 

For Fred and George, they noticed how much _less,_ they jolted awake in the middle of the night; Cedric’s gibberish sleep-talk either quietening down or no longer happening as the days went on. Sometimes when they woke up, they'd find Cedric fast asleep, his lavender incense still lit but their bedroom window also cracked open, letting air in. They figured that it was all due to some potion Cedric kept—a cup of something sweet that would often sit on his bedside table each night and always be empty by the morning—but they had yet figure out that the ‘potion’ was actually _chamomile tea_.

They also had yet to notice that it was Harry, who always boiled the kettle in the evening.

In a similar fashion, Hermione would catch a whiff of lavender whenever Cedric passed, and would wonder to herself why the name of the flower came so quickly to her head, feeling so fresh on her mind as if she had used it recently... but she couldn’t recall ever reading a _single_ herbology book this summer. And it began to trouble her so much that in the time she spent thinking about it, she didn’t even recall all the self-care advice that she had given to Harry weeks ago. On the other hand, Ron remembered the list of things that he and Hermione came up with for Harry. It was most the reading he's ever done out of school after all, and out of all things, it was on his mum's  _blimmin'_  Wizards Weekly magazine!

Ron knew that Harry would make two cups of tea for himself and Cedric each night. But he brushed it off.  _Of course they're close._ They had gone through a lot together. They’re just trying to deal with it now. But then again, Cedric did spend a lot his time in  _their_  bedroom, the three of them playing cards or both Harry and Cedric teaming up and trying to beat Ron at chess (Cedric somehow did it once, but hadn’t been able to do it since). It was a little odd and for some reason, something twitched in Ron's head, like a cog that didn't have the rest of the machine to spin. And so he wouldn't quite connect the dots until much later, coming to find Harry's new habit of playing around with his hair before they went downstairs for breakfast each morning; a little _different_ but nothing else indicative. (Though in all fairness, nobody would figure out fully, not even Harry.)

It was just _too_ subtle.   
Rarely noticed by any of Harry's friends.

But..

It was different for the adults.

 

For Mrs Weasley, she was surprised to come down to the kitchen and see Harry and Cedric already up, a large breakfast of pancakes made and kept warm in the oven while they stood at the counter and;  _Oh_.

She watched as Cedric enveloped Harry into a hug, his body leaning into Harry's open arms while he wrapped his own like a cross against Harry's back. Mrs Weasley couldn't see Harry's expression, but Cedric's was in plain and unfiltered view; his eyes screwed tight as he talked, mouth hesitant, stuttering. Arms constricting around Harry but careful not to wrap too tightly.  
Fred, George, Ron and even Hermione and Ginny had always talked about how perfect Cedric was, gushing or groaning about how princely he acted. But that was not the boy in front of her,  
He clung to Harry, desperate, tired; a normal kid. And it hurt Mrs Weasley in a way she thought she'd gotten used to, so much that she wanted to leap from the door and hug Cedric herself.  
But she just couldn't get it in her to leave the shadows.

There was just something about the air around them, like it was politely asking that no one interrupted. The sight of Harry and Cedric holding onto each other with all their might.... she couldn't interfere with that. And so she kept quiet and kept watching, and she was glad she did because soon and very suddenly Harry laughed.

A real laugh that made him turn and bend, a little, towards the floor; bubbling and high-pitched like he couldn't quite get it out or hold it in. Mrs Weasley wondered how long it had been since Grimmauld had heard such genuine laughter, the kind that brightened Harry’s face and made him look more his age, and the kind that made Cedric flush with pleasure; obviously _he_ made the joke. She didn't wonder how they got from emotional hugging to laughter, it distilled the room and like a charm she felt her spirit raise and a smile on her face and in in all honesty-

_Ah._

Mrs Weasley could only sigh, turning and giving them a few minutes more before she wondered how long it had been since _she_ had heard Harry laugh, as soft and as beautiful as this.

For Sirius, he was hit by a sense of deja vu as he watched Cedric during cleaning days. At first it was out of caution, but then it morphed into a strange intrigue, not because of any peculiar methods that Cedric used to clear the walls of cobwebs and spiders—no, Sirius was interested in how Cedric seemed to gravitate towards Harry, the both of them always, somehow meeting and eventually standing side by side even when they put into opposite corners. Like a loop, they'd always become too occupied in their own conversations and so frequently caught in their own distraction that Harry would consistently mop only _one_ spot of the floor, while Cedric feathered the same already clean wall, half a dozen times.  
It was so _strange_.  
Like watching some sort of magnet, slowly, being drawn towards another. A dance that pulled, the music tucked underneath their subconscious. But...

_Ah._

Sirius realized what the deja vu was. His eyes widened and he didn't know what to think, instead turning around and leaving the room as quietly he could; his heart going _thud thud thud._

Oh.  
It was still there. A dated choreo that he knew better than his own name, Harry and Cedric’s dance beating to the rhythm of an old song Sirius kept thrummed in his heart.

It was the same one that he and Remus had danced to, long ago.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an apology because i can't pump out a full chapter at all this week! stay tuned for next week though, IM GONNA DO IT.
> 
> however if you're missing my writing, feel free to check my tumblr lmao (cedricsboyfriend.tumblr.com/tagged/short) cause i write some prompted stuff there!


	15. The War against The Black House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly's Punishment Time!

It had been a couple of days since they started cleaning the drawing-room.

Harry no longer needed to wipe the dust off his glasses as the shelves became emptier and emptier, the floor filled with large sacks of rubbish and stored heirlooms, cabinets stacked and armchairs — no longer wheezing it's own insides —  moved to the far wall.

Cleaning felt like a war in this room. Everyone’s hands eventually red from scrubbing, the smell of fix-it potions and masking fragrances hard to wash off each evening. Casualties were taken when Cedric and Fred — so affected by the scents — tried to work with toothpaste under their noses while Ginny had to stop completely, a constant rate of sneezes erupting from her direction every half-second despite having a heavily bundled face. On a separate occasion, Ron disappeared for two hours, after he lifted a mat and discovered that underneath the 12-inch wool and polyester-mesh of cover; a multitude of spiders were living there, their spindly legs all spilling out as soon as daylight hit their abode. Harry eventually found Ron sitting in the kitchen with Sirius, who had made him several cups of tea.

While it was hard work at first, in time they soon grew satisfied to see how it paid off; the walls having returned to their olive green color and actual sunlight streaming into the room, the space clear of the strewn junk — crumpled papers, broken down furniture, rusty jewelry and tattered paintings — and it's corners free of low-hanging cobwebs.

Now it was just the finishing touches as Harry wrapped a cloth around the bottom half of his face, watching Hermione and Ginny carried in large boxes that contained numerous spray-bottles, which were filled with some sort-of black liquid.

Harry picked a bottle up and carefully examined it.

 _“It’s Doxycide,”_ someone explained and Harry looked behind to see Mrs Weasley, pointing at the _long, moss green velvet curtains that were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. “I’ve never seen an infestation this bad! What has that house-elf been doing for the last ten years?!”_

_Hermione’s face was half-concealed by a tea towel but Harry distinctly saw her throw a reproachful look at Mrs Weasley._

_“Kreacher’s really old, he probably couldn’t manage —”_

_“You’d be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wants to, Hermione,” said Sirius, who had just entered the room carrying a bloodstained bag of what appeared to be dead rats._

_“I’ve just been feeding Buckbeak,” he added, in reply to Harry’s enquiring look. “I keep him upstairs in my mother's bedroom. Anyway … this writing desk …”_

Sirius dropped the bag onto an armchair and walked around the cabinet Mrs Weasley had moved into the corner. As he bent over the cabinet shook, quick but a little too violently for anyone to miss or ignore, even if they weren’t looking.

_“Well Molly, I’m pretty sure this is a Boggart,” said Sirius, peering through the keyhole, “but perhaps we ought to let Mad-Eye have a shifty at it before we let it out — knowing my mother, it could be something much worse.”_

_“Right you are, Sirius,” said Mrs Weasley._

They both spoke polite like it was a dialect of English, a language that kept their voices so light, so careful and delicate that it could’ve been frosting on a cupcake. But it only made everything more obvious and all the more clear;  _that_ night weighed heavy in their heads.   
It was irking to hear them talk.

But soon and thankfully, dashing the awkward air, a _loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs — followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails._

_“I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!” said Sirius exasperatedly, hurrying out of the room. They heard him thundering down the stairs as Mrs Black's screeches echoed up through the house once more:_

_“STAIN’S OF DISHONOUR, FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BLOOD TRAITORS, CHILDREN OF FILTH!”_

Cedric quickly shut the door much to Harry’s regret — he couldn’t hear _any_ of the conversation that might’ve been exchanged downstairs — while Mrs Weasley very quickly ordered them about, after flipping through the pages of _Gilderoy Lockhart’s Guide to Household Pests,_ with  _"George, move the chair there"_ 's and _"Ginny, stay away from the curtains"_ and _"Please Hermione, just let Crookshanks out!"._

A few minutes later, they had spread out into a makeshift firing line facing the windows, Mrs Weasley slightly in front; encouraging them to be trigger-happy with their bottles of Doxycide as they sprayed the room at varying speeds.  

Harry, who had been squeezing hesitantly and almost lazily, _had been spraying only a few seconds when a fully-grown Doxy came soaring out of a fold in the material, shiny beetle-like wings whirring, tiny needle-sharp teeth bared, it's fairy-like body covered with thick black hair and it's four tiny fists clench with fury._ Thankfully — or rather unfortunately for itself — it flew straight at Harry’s nozzle and froze midair, falling with loud thunk onto the floor, body covered in little black droplets of Doxycide spray. Careful to still be gentle, Harry plucked the Doxy from the floor and dropped it in the bucket beside his feet.

 _“Fred, what are you doing?”_ Mrs Weasley suddenly said. _“Spray that at once and throw it away!”_

Harry looked over and saw Fred holding a struggling Doxy in his hand. He promptly sprayed it in the face, causing it to faint, and made a show of throwing it into the bucket; but as soon as Mrs Weasley turned, _he pocketed it with a wink._

Beside Harry, Cedric crept up.

“They’ve been wanting to experiment with Doxy venom for their Skeeving Snackboxes.” he said under his breath.

Spraying two more Doxy’s, George came over and quietly muttered,  
“ _Skiving_ Snackboxes Cedric, get it right!”  

“What are Skiving Snackboxes?” Harry asked, just out of the corner of his mouth.

_“Range of sweets to make you ill,” George whispered, keeping a wary eye on mrs Weasley’s back. “Not seriously ill, mind, just ill enough to get you out of a class when you feel like it. Fred and I have been developing them this summer. They’re double-ended, color-coded chews. If you eat the orange half of the Puking Pastilles, you throw up. Moment you've been rushed out of the lesson for the hospital wing, you swallow the purple half —”_

_“ — which restores you to full fitness, enabling you to pursue the leisure activity of your own choice during an hour that would otherwise have been devoted to unprofitable boredom.’ That’s what we’re putting on the adverts, anyway,” whispered Fred, who had edged over out of Mrs Weasley’s line of vision and was no sweeping a few stray Doxy’s from the floor and adding them to his pocket._

“Yeah, I’m going to have pass on testing this time,” Cedric said firmly.

“ _Testing?_ ” Harry said, eyes wide.

“Alongside Fred and I, Cedric here has graciously lent us his own body for the past few days — for research purposes, of course.”

“And, what have you found out?”

“Erm.. well none of us can stop puking for long enough to swallow the purple end.” George admitted.

“But!” Fred said, jumping in. “The Fainting Fancies, the Nosebleed Nougat are both basically ready and more pleasant to experience than we realized.”

“Plus the results are great! _Mum thought we’d been duelling..._ ”

In unison, the four boys swivelled their heads slightly to look at Mrs Weasley who was seemed busy, advising Ron on how to firmly hold the bottle in his hand.

_“Jokeshop’s still on, then?” Harry muttered, pretending to adjust the nozzle on his spray._

_“Well, we haven’t had a chance to get premises yet,” said Fred, dropping his voice even lower as Mrs Weasley mopped her brow with her scarf before returning to the attack, “so we’re running it as a mail-order service at the moment. We put advertisements in the Daily Prophet last week.”_

“All thanks to your kindness, Harry,” said George, “And don’t fret … Mum hasn’t got a clue about anything! She stopped reading the Daily Prophet, since it just kept telling lies about you, Cedric and Dumbledore.”

Harry grinned. He felt strangely proud that the tournament prize money was being used in this way.

“And you, a Hogwarts _Prefect_ are okay with this?” Harry asked, glancing at Cedric.  
He gave slight shrug.

“It's either that I can sort-of control their movements _now_ or let them loose and be reporting about it _later_. I know full well, I can't stop it at this point." Cedric said, and he shook his spray bottle with a wry grin.

"Besides, the people want what the people want!” he said. But it was too loud, Mrs Weasley whipping around with a dangerous expression on her face. The four boys promptly halted in their conversation and muffled laughter as they dispersed in opposite directions.

—-

_The de-Doxying of the curtains took most of the morning. It was past midday when Mrs Weasley finally removed her protective scar, sank into a sagging armchair and sprang up again with a cry of disgust, having sat on the bag of dead rats. The curtains were no longer buzzing; they hung limp and damp from the intensive spraying. At the foot of them unconscious Doxy’s lay crammed in the bucket beside a bowl of their black eggs, at which Crookshanks was now sniffing and Fred and George were shooting covetous looks._

As they crept towards the bucket, _the clanging doorbell rang again._

“It’s Mundungus!” Hermione cried as she peered through the window. “Oh but… why’s he brought all those cauldrons?”

 _Everyone looked over at Mrs Weasley._  

_“Stay here,” she said firmly, snatching up a bag of rats as Mrs Black’s screeches started up again from down below. “I’ll bring up some sandwiches.”_

“Ron wasn’t he talking to you about picking up dodgy cauldron’s at dinner the other night?” Hermione asked. Everyone gathered behind her and watched as Mundungus tried to heave a large sack — oddly shaped as if a bunch of cauldrons had just been stuffed inside — up the steps.

 _“Blimey! Mum won’t like that …”_ Fred said, making his way over to the door. As he opened it, _there was an explosion of sound from downstairs_.

_“WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!”_

_All of them could hear exactly what Mrs Weasley was shouting at the top of her lungs._

_“ — COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE, AS IF WE HAVEN’T GOT ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGIN STOLEN CAULDRONS INTO THE HOUSE-”_

_“I love hearing Mum shouting at someone else,” said Fred, with a satisfied smile on his face as he opened the door an inch or so to allow Mrs Weasley’s voice to permeate the room better, “it makes such a nice change.”_

Suddenly Sirius came up the stairs with his hands up, head shaking and his expression communicating that he did _not_ want to be involved in whatever the hell was going on downstairs.

“Why don’t I replace Molly as your supervisor for the hour?” he smiled, and as he glanced behind him, his pace quickened as he abruptly shot forward.

“Close the door, close the door!” he hissed as he rushed past, and after blinking dumbly once, Fred rushed to quickly do as Sirius said.  
But not quick enough as one small body squeezed into the drawing-room.

As Sirius groaned behind him, Harry came closer and found that it was actually house-elf, a dirty rag wrapped around its spindly body like a loincloth, it's skin sunken and clinging to it's tiny bones like it was one fit too big. The elf's eyes and bat-like ears drooped with age but it's gaze was sharp, _wary_ — its large and fleshy nose sniffing around like snout as it looked about the room. _The elf took absolutely no notice of Harry and the rest. Acting as though it could not see them, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, towards the far end of the room, all while muttering under its breath in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrogs._

_“... smells like a drain and criminal to boot, but she's no better nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my mistress’s house, oh, my poor mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they’ve let into her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh, the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do…”_

_“Hello, Kreacher,” said Fred very loudly, closing the door with a snap._

_The house-elf froze in his tracks._  His muttering stopped while he _gave a very pronounced and very unconvincing start of surprise._

_“Kreacher did not see young master,” he said, turning around and bowing to Fred. Still facing the carpet, he added, perfectly audible, “Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is.”_

_“Sorry?” said George. “Didn’t catch that last bit.”_

_“Kreacher said nothing,” said the elf, with a second bow to George, adding in a clear undertone, “and there’s it's twin, unnatural little beasts they are.”_

 

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or be offended. 

 

“Kreacher.” he heard Cedric’s stern voice, and saw him put his arm out in front of George. Kreacher paused and bowed, lower than he had before, to Cedric.

 “Young master Diggory.” he said. There were no additional comments as he straightened up, but he eyed the rest of them _malevolently._ And when he was _apparently convinced that they couldn’t hear, he continued to mutter._

_“... and there’s the Mudblood, standing there bold as brass, oh, if my mistress, knew, oh how she’d cry, and there's a new boy, Kreacher doesn’t know his name. What is he doing here? Kreacher doesn’t know…”_

_“This is Harry, Kreacher,” said Hermione tentatively. “Harry Potter.”_

_Kreacher’s pale eyes widened and he muttered faster and more furiously than ever._

_“The Mudblood is talking to Kreacher as though she is my friend, if Kreacher’s mistress saw him in such company, oh, what would she say-”_

_“Don’t call her a Mudblood!” said Ron and Ginny together, very angrily._

“Don’t!” Hermione said, grabbing both of their arms. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“Like _hell_ he doesn’t!” Fred said, eyeing Kreacher down. The elf stared hard right back at him.   
Harry was shocked. Other than their own, he had never seen a house-elf look at someone else in the eyes, let alone openly glare right at them. There was, of course, Dobby but all the house-elves at Hogwarts seemed to be of a shy disposition; never openly interacting with the students unless they were directly in the kitchen.

“What are you doing here, Kreacher?” Cedric asked, and Harry noticed that his stern tone had disappeared, replaced by a hard edge to his expression. Kreacher looked towards him and once again, his eyes lowered to the floor. 

 _“Kreacher is cleaning,” he said evasively,_ his tiny hands grabbed at each other.

 _“A likely story,” a voice said behind Harry._ Sirius was glowering at the house-elf who suddenly flung himself into a low bow, his snout-like nose touching the ground as soon as he saw Sirius.   

_“Stand up straight,” said Sirius impatiently. “Now, what are you up to?”_

_“Kreacher is cleaning,” the elf repeated. “Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black — “_

_“And it’s getting blacker every day, it's filthy,” said Sirius._

_“Master always liked his little joke,” said Krecher, bowing again and continuing in an undertone, “Master was a nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother’s heart — “_

_“My mother didn’t have a heart, Kreacher,” snapped Sirius. “She kept herself alive out of pure spite.”_

And they continued to talk like this, a rally of Sirius’s cold and curt replies and Kreacher’s polite responses and under-the-breath commentary. Like a repeat of Harry’s first night, everyone’s head swivelled from Kreacher lamenting about Mrs Black and Sirius’s sins to Sirius’s consistent demands to to know why Kreacher was really here.

Eventually Harry noticed that Kreacher was edging towards the far wall, where a tapestry that looked immensely old, hung in the darker corner of the room.

 _“Mistress will never forgive Kreacher if the tapestry was thrown out. Seven centuries it's been in the family, Kreacher must save it, Kreacher must not let Master and the blood traitor and the brats destroy it — “_ the elf suddenly said.

_“Ah, I thought it might be that,” said Sirius, casting a disdainful look at the opposite wall. “She’ll have put another Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of it, I don’t doubt but I can get rid it, I certainly will. Now go away, Kreacher.”_

_It seemed Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order, nevertheless, the look he gave Sirius as he shuffled out past him was full of deepest loathing as he muttered all the way out of the room._

_“ — comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw the house name, scum living in it, her treasures thrown out,”_ and at this Harry saw Kreacher reach into a bag of the trinkets and objects they had collected from the room, and take something out before he continued muttering. _“She swore he was no son of hers and he’s back, they say he’s a_ **_murderer_ ** _too-“_

 _“_ Take whatever you’re holding out of the room and I _will_ be a murderer!” Sirius snarled, waving the door shut on the elf.

_“Sirius, he’s not right in the head!” Hermione pleaded. “I don’t think he realizes we can hear him.”_

_“He’s been alone too long,” said Sirius,_  he stalked up to Kreacher who stood there hunched and frozen, _“taking mad orders from my mother's portrait and talking to himself, but he was always a_ ** _foul_** **_little-_** _”_

“I’m sure Kreacher could have this ring right, Sirius?” Cedric suddenly said. Everyone turned to see that he was holding out something in the open palm of his hands; a ring with the Black crest as it's insignia.

“It’s not cursed or anything important.. just a memento for him.” Cedric said nodding at the elf.

 

“You’re sure?” Sirius said carefully, he stopped and walked over to Cedric, picking the ring up from his hand and rolling it in between his fingers.

“I checked,” Cedric said. Then he angled his head.

“If we appease Kreacher, then it’ll be an easier time cleaning.” he said quietly, taking care to speak in a low voice; even Harry, who was beside him, wasn’t completely sure of what exact words he had said.

But fortunately Sirius, having heard him clearly, sighed and waved his hand in reply.

“Do whatever you want.” he said, and he gave the ring back before he walked towards the tapestry, sizing it up and promptly ignoring whatever was going behind him at that moment.

Cedric smiled at Kreacher, and gestured him closer, before kneeling down to his height.

“I bet he’ll let you barter and keep more stuff if you leave us and the rubbish bags alone.” Cedric said, hardness still there but his voice was not unkind. “And don’t worry —  we won’t throw anything away without first coming to you."

With that he held out the ring on his palm, waiting as slowly, _slowly,_ Kreacher took the band and clutched it with both of his tiny hands; as if he was holding onto extremely valuable gem.

Kreacher looked up and stared at Cedric’s soft smile, before finally nodding.

“My thanks, young master.” he said and he shuffled out of the room and shut the door.

There was a moment’s silence that followed the click of the door. Fred then slung an arm over Cedric’s neck.

“Wow! He didn’t even call you traitor, filth, or scum!” he remarked, and before Harry could hear Cedric’s reply, he noticed Hermione creep beside him.

“It seems that Kreacher really likes him.” she whispered. “I don’t know how but a few days after they first met, Kreacher stopped talking in that... _second voice_ , whenever he spoke with Cedric.”

“It’s puzzling, but leave it to charming Cedric to entrance dusty old house-elves eh?” Ron quipped. He was promptly thwacked by Hermione’s hand.

“Ron!”

“What?! He called you a _mudblood!”_  

“He’s got a point.” Harry admitted, but before Hermione could indignantly respond, the door re-opened with a frazzled Mrs Weasley now in the doorway.

“I just saw Kreacher walking off with a ring, is that-?”

“Yes Molly, Cedric thought we could let him keep some non-magical items as mementos.” Sirius said turning around. “I’m not against the idea if it means he’ll be less  _annoying_ in the future.”

“I see. Well let’s not think about that now, Mundungus is making lunch downstairs for us, come on!” and Mrs Weasley gestured everyone to come with her as she turned around, walking towards the stairs.

“ _Mundungus_ is cooking? For _us_?” Ginny said, following behind her.

“As payment for us housing the cauldrons.” Mrs Weasley replied, resigned.

Fred, George, Ron, Harry and Hermione filtered out of the room, and as Cedric began to walk forward and catch up to them, he felt hand hold him back.

 

It was Sirius, a careful expression on his face. 

“Are you pure-blooded by any chance?” he asked. But before Cedric could answer, Sirius sighed and shook his head.  
“Ah, sorry, don’t answer that, it doesn’t matter,” he ran his hands through his hair. “You probably just remind him of Regulus.” 

“Regulus?” Cedric echoed.

“My idiot brother.” Sirius said, and as his gaze swept the floor, the tone of his voice roughening; Cedric took the hint.

He bid Sirius goodbye and walked out the door, without realizing that Harry was hiding beside it, propped against the wall — having heard everything.

After a moment of hesitation, Harry took a breath and decisively swung into the room, walking beside Sirius who stared at the ancient, sun-dulled tapestry with intent; thumb tucked underneath his chin while the side of his finger pressed to his lips in thought.

“Sirius.” Harry said.  
He jolted.

“Oh!” Sirius said, staring at Harry, a little surprised. "D-did you forget something?"

Harry took a breath.

“Erm... sorry to ask _now_ of all times but... I think you owed me a conversation about your family.”

Sirius's expression, which was initially appeased and open, faltered at Harry’s words.  
He looked at the ground again with a soft but forced smile.

"Ah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a chapter focusing on canon stuff yaaaaaaaay, also sirius/harry bonding time looming for next chapter.


	16. Lily Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius & Harry have a chat

Harry reached out in front of him, tracing the tapestry’s linework, the embroidery and cloth rough with age underneath his fingertips. _It was faded and looked as though doxies had gnawed it in places; nevertheless, a golden thread still glinted brightly enough to show them a sprawling family tree dating back (as far as Harry could tell) to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read:_

 

 **The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black  
** **“Toujours Pur”**

 

And from that banner, the golden lines spread into branches that bore fruit of more names on flying banners; caricatures of each family head, of each daughter and son pandering to the tree with their sequined eyes and white-threaded skin.

Two particular banners caught Harry’s eye.  
“You’re related to the Malfoys? To the Weasley’s, even?!”

_“The pure-blood families are all interrelated,” said Sirius. “If you’re only going to let your sons and daughters marry purebloods your choice is very limited, there are hardly any of us left. Molly and I are cousins by marriage and Arthur’s something like my second cousin once removed. But there’s no point looking for them on here — if ever a family was a bunch of blood traitors it’s the Weasleys.”_

Sirius tapped a branch labeled ‘ ** _Black_** ’ and trailed down.

_“I haven’t looked at this for years. There’s Phineas Nigellus . . . my great-great-grandfather, see? Least popular headmaster Hogwarts ever had . . . and Araminta Meliflua . . . cousin of my mother’s . . . tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make Muggle-hunting legal . . . and dear Aunt Elladora . . . she started the family tradition of beheading house-elves when they got too old to carry tea trays . . . of course, anytime the family produced someone halfway decent they were disowned. I see Tonks isn’t on here. Maybe that’s why Kreacher won’t take orders from her — he’s supposed to do whatever anyone in the family asks him. . . .”_

_“You and Tonks are related?” Harry asked, surprised._

_“Oh yeah her mother, Andromeda, was my favorite cousin,” said Sirius, examining the tapestry carefully._

_“No, Andromeda’s not on here either, look —_ they must’ve removed her after she married Ted Tonks. _” He pointed to another small round burn mark between two names, Bellatrix and Narcissa._

“He was a Muggleborn you see, and our family were humiliated by their union! Her  sisters however, and as you might have figured out, made lovely and _respectable_ pure-blood marriages… Narcissa to Lucius Malfoy,” Sirius said, his finger hovering at  ** _‘Malfoy’_** , “and Bellatrix to Rodolphus Lestrange.”

 _“Lestrange . . .” Harry said aloud._  As he eyed the ** _'Lestrange'_ ** banner,  _the name had stirred something in his memory; he knew it from somewhere, but for a moment he couldn’t think where, though it gave him an odd, creeping sensation in the pit of his stomach._

_“They’re in Azkaban,” said Sirius shortly. Harry looked at him curiously._

_“Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus came in with Barty Crouch, Junior,” said Sirius in the same brusque voice. “Rodolphus’s brother, Rabastan, was with them too.”_

_And Harry remembered: He had seen Bellatrix Lestrange inside Dumbledore’s Pensieve, the strange device in which thoughts and memories could be stored: a tall dark woman with heavy-lidded eyes, who had stood at her trial and proclaimed her continuing allegiance to Lord Voldemort, her pride that she had tried to find him after his downfall and her conviction that she would one day be rewarded for her loyalty._

_“You never said she was your —”_

_“Does it matter if she’s my cousin?” snapped Sirius. “As far as I’m concerned, they’re not my family. She’s certainly not my family. I haven’t seen her since I was your age, unless you count a glimpse of her coming in to Azkaban. D’you think I’m proud of having relatives like her?”_

_“Sorry,” said Harry quickly, “I didn’t mean — I was just surprised, that’s all —”_

_“It doesn’t matter, don’t apologize,” Sirius mumbled at once._ He crossed his arms and dug his nails underside, but Harry didn’t seem offended.  
He didn’t even notice Sirius’s obvious discomfort, as eyes took to tapestry and scanned the bottom of the tree.

 _“_ Hold on... you’re not on here!” he said and it roused Sirius, making him bend towards the tapestry's end.

 _“I used to be there,” said Sirius_ , showing Harry. But his finger pointed at a _small, round, charred hole in the tapestry,_  looking rather similar to the effect of someone that had pressed their cigar to the cloth with much conviction and deliberation.

For some reason the entirety of Harry’s chest clenched when he saw it.  
It felt as if _he_ was the who was the one who had been burned away.

His mouth ran dry.  
_“_ Did they-.. Did they disown you?” he asked.

“Yes. When I was about your age, I ran away from home. _”_ said Sirius _._ He looked over at Harry’s eyes. They were wide, staring very blatantly at the hole, his hands clutching at the hem of his hoodie. It made Sirius soften.

 _“I’d had enough.”_ he said, but gently, as if it was just another piece of history; another family story to the tapestry.

_“Where did you go?” asked Harry, staring at him._

_“Your dad’s place,” said Sirius. “Your grandparents were really good about it; they sort of adopted me as a second son. Yeah, I camped out at your dad’s during the school holidays, and then when I was seventeen I got a place of my own, my Uncle Alphard had left me a decent bit of gold — he’s been wiped off here too, that’s probably why — anyway, after that I looked after myself. I was always welcome at Mr. and Mrs. Potter’s for Sunday lunch, though.”_

_“But . . . why did you . . . ?”_

_“Leave?” Sirius smiled bitterly and ran a hand through his long hair._

_“Because I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal . . ._ They used to pander to me, hold me up as their prodigal son, trying to feed _a_ child with their outdated ideals. But my idiot brother! He was _soft enough to believe them . . . that’s him.” Sirius jabbed a finger at the very bottom of the tree, at the name ‘_ _Regulus Black_ _’. A date of death (some fifteen years previously) followed the date of birth._

 _“He was younger than me,” said Sirius, “and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded._ Quiet and obedient. Very unlike his rebellious older brother. _”_

 _“But he died,” said Harry._ He found it hard to swallow.

 _“Yeah,” said Sirius._ He shook his head and sighed, _“Stupid idiot . . . he joined the Death Eaters.”_

“A Death Eater! Did he-... Did your parents...?”

_“No, no, but believe me, they thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the Wizarding race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having purebloods in charge. They weren’t alone either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colors, who thought he had the right idea about things. . . . They got cold feet when they saw what he was prepared to do to get power, though. But I bet my parents thought Regulus was a right little hero for joining up at first.”_

_“Was he killed by an Auror?” Harry asked tentatively._

_“Oh no,” said Sirius. “No, he was murdered by Voldemort. Or on Voldemort’s orders, more likely, I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person. From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don’t just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It’s a lifetime of service or death.”_

Harry stared at Sirius. There was something sardonic and bitter curdling his mouth, as if what he had recalled was stupid, almost trivial.  
But Harry could tell otherwise, in fact, he knew _better_.

“I.. I can’t really picture what it was like… living with _your_ family,” he said, and Sirius gave a small and sad chuckle.

“Harry, I would not want for you to be able to.” he said.  
But Harry shook his head.

Sirius’s composure was fragile. Delicately carved into his demeanor, like a reflex of some sort that — after talking to Cedric — Harry was all too familiar with. His eyebrows were knitted yet, not in anger or disgust; but frustration. Eyes staring hard but crumpled, words mocking but more than enough of a testament to a pain that Harry could only _imagine_.

“I know how it feels though.” he said, quietly. “Being so different from the people that you live with… having them _dislike..._ you.”

Sirius turned his head, a new light dawning on his face.

“That’s right,” Sirius whispered. “You do.”

“I know that it can be…” and Harry sighed, “.. _h_ _ard._ Difficult to explain so, I don’t need you to if you don’t want to but-”

“No! _No,_ I’m sorry. I’ve been rather appalling today, haven’t I?” Sirius laughed, nervous. He suddenly reached for Harry’s hem-clutched hand and carefully pried his fingers away, holding them and then placing his own palm on top before he gave a large sigh; an exhalation that squeezed the lungs behind his chest, that deflated his shoulders and turned him solemn, thoughtful.

“My past… I do not wish to dwell on it, and I do not wish for you to know details about how my family treated me — you can absolutely guess of course, but you do not _deserve_ such information.” Sirius said. “I will, however, answer as many questions that I can, instead of being your tour guide for the Black lineage.”

Harry grinned at his joke.  
“Is it really okay?”

“Yes. I did _promise_ you a conversation. And besides-” Sirius said, the glint back in his eye, “Talking about myself used to be one of my favourite past times.”

“Alright!” Harry said, laughing, distilling the room as he held firmly onto Sirius’s hand.

“Okay.” Sirius said and while he smiled to the floor, he took a deep breath.  
“Fire away.”

Harry looked up at the top of the tapestry, and followed the lines that lead to _**‘Walburga & Orion Black’.  
**_“Well first, when did you know?" he asked. "That it was all codswallop _,_ everything your parents were saying?”

Sirius gave a wry laugh.  
“Starting in the deep end eh?”

“Oh erm-”

“Don't worry, it’s quite alright. But well.. let’s see.” Sirius took a moment before a cynical, but almost strangely fond smile reached his face.

“I think I always hated it, Harry, but if there was a _moment_.. It’d have to be the first day I came back to this house. After spending that entire first term in the Gryffindor tower.”

“Really?”

“Well, that moment with the Sorting itself had confirmed everything that I’ve been conflicted over for _years_. I was so surprised when I didn’t get a Howler the next morning that I became used to it, not hearing a single thing from my parents all that time — I had hoped that maybe they weren’t so angry — but I was _wrong._ When I came back…” Sirius let out a shaky sigh, “I knew that I could never get along with my family, not if I wanted to be myself.”

“What happened?”

“As soon as I stepped through the door, my mother grabbed my arm and dragged me into my room, locking me in for some time; telling Kreacher that he was only to bring up bread and water until I started _‘behaving like a proper Black’."_ Sirius paused. "I don't think she even looked at me." 

“That’s terrible!” Harry said, aghast.

“It didn’t last long." Sirius said, reassuring him. "But that certainly set the tone for the next few of years. I started voluntarily staying in my room and stopped eating or going to the main family events that were sprinkled throughout the year. Despite me being a Gryffindor, Mother was intent on trying to change my mind, saying that Dumbledore and the Sorting Hat had made some a grievous mistake — No son of hers would deviate from bloodline tradition.”

“I suppose you didn’t like that.”

Sirius lips curled into a familiar smirk.

“Well I certainly did my best to rebel against it. It was tiring you see, because before that, they were always so _proud_ of me; always saying how much I meant to them.” Sirius gave a bitter bark of laughter before he shook his head. “Course, what really mattered was who they thought I _could_ be. They never really loved me _...._ So I got back at them, as much as I could before I ran away — I made sure to have all sorts of Muggle things in my room and-”

He turned suddenly to Harry and for the second time since he had arrived — the first being when he first saw Harry — Sirius's face warmed, and his grin stretched, fond.

“I would always ask your mother to get me things." he said, hands rapt with a new animation. "Like those automatic quills? The plastic ones, where you can just press a button and, voila!”

“Pens?” Harry asked, incredulously. Sirius clapped his hands.

“Yes! Pens! _Wonderful_ things _._ Drove my family half-mad by just clicking and _oh,_ I could never forget when Lily brought me those tapes. The amount of songs and movies I played at ridiculous hours!” Sirius grinned, his eyes at the ceiling, reminiscent. “I collected posters, clothes and accessories, records, tapes and all sorts of Muggle inventions, put a Permanent Sticking Charm on them whenever I left for school. And when I ran away, I brought it all with me — everything. Moony was interested in Muggle things as well you see, especially the music, we’d always listen to something different in the evening...”

“Moony… Did you mean Lupin?”

“Ah y-yes,” Sirius coughed into his hand, embarrassed. “Sorry, the nicknames we gave each other at Hogwarts are.. very stuck, even now.”

“Did Lupin live with you? After you left my Dad’s?”

Sirius looked up from his hand. He was caught a little off-guard, but there was something a little more undecipherable there, something Harry couldn’t quite read.

“He did.” said Sirius and he opened and closed his mouth several times, as if trying to figure out what to say. “Of course it was after we left school, but… yes. For a time, we rented out this dinky flat on the outskirts of London, a bit before you were just born.”

“Dinky?”

“It was a cheap apartment, so it was cramped and a little shoddy —we never had a proper warm bath but,” Sirius’s eyes gleamed, “It was cosy… A _home._ ”

Harry blinked.  
“I didn’t know you two were so _close_.”

Sirius paused, but then he smiled again.  
Still undecipherable.

“We w-.. _are,_ yes. It went downhill for a bit, when I was framed for murder and such but now… _erm_ ..” Sirius shook his head and then waved his hand _,_ “Anyway! Do you- do you have any more questions?”

Harry swallowed.  
He had many, really.

He wanted to ask what he was like at school, how it felt to be the first ones to form the new Order. He wanted to ask about Peter Pettigrew, wanted know about the Marauders and how they became Animagi, how they created the map, and what his father and mother were like. And finally, there was this nagging within Harry, a sense of tugging that felt like Sirius was holding back on Lupin — like there was some kind of boundary that Harry had yet to touch on.

But while there was so much to ask Sirius, so much to unravel and understand and to see; for now…

“I have one.”

“Alright.” Sirius said. He crossed his arms, eager.

“You don’t have answer if you don’t want to.” said Harry, hesitantly.

Sirius tilted his head.  
“I know.” he said, intrigued.

Harry paused a moment, rethinking about whether he should say it, his tongue caught between his teeth for good measure before he finally took a breath.

 

“Did you love your brother, Regulus?” he asked.

 

Sirius’s body slowly straightened in quiet revelation, his eyebrow arched and eyes darting as he tried to process the question in his head.

“What made you..?”

“You just react to differently to his name.” Harry hurriedly explained. “I was wondering whether you had a soft spot for him before he-... _you know_.”

“Well I did. Of course I did, everyone did! He was… a people pleaser before he became such a bigot — a quiet bigot, mind you but still a purebred, brainwashed bigot.” Sirius said and he threw his hand up. “Hell, even before that, he was trying to please all the other bigots! I _hated_ it.”

“But?” Harry asked.

Sirius sighed.  
He was sighing a lot today.

“But it was harder to hate Regulus despite it all. I knew that he just wanted to make our parents happy, that there were more pressure on him when I showed my _‘true’_ colors,” Sirius shook his head. “Suddenly _he_ was expected to succeed the Black name, _he_ was expected to inherit everything which meant he had to be _perfect._ The perfect little pureblood son.”

Harry nodded.  
“Were you protective?”

“Very. But eventually he stopped needing it… he became friends with more _like-minded_ people, you see, people that Mother and Father approved of; narrow-minded and stupid gits _,_ but powerful ones at the very least, people whose name held weight in our world. Bred to be just like their parents, stuck in their own pureblood fantasies, armed with their entitlement and selfishness!” Sirius paused. “I knew he didn’t like it or them very much, but he thought it was where he _belonged_. And when I left, well... he stuck himself firmly, in... their world.”  

“It’s not your fault,” Harry said suddenly. It felt like he was being pricked, as he watched Sirius blame himself, the bittersweet smile, the shake of his head all pricking and binding Harry to a new surge of something that flowed, sad and frustrated in his chest.

“I should’ve been more persistent,” Sirius said.

“But you had to leave!”

Sirius chuckled.

“That was always what Remus and James would say. And even now, I still try _t_ o convince myself that but,” Sirius traced the tapestry’s embroidered outline of Regulus Black. He thumbed the threaded cheek and sighed, small, once more. “When you get older, you become less and less certain.”

“Don’t you think you’re overthinking it? It wasn’t your fault for running away! All the things your parents did... they basically made you!”

“Did they? I was able to bear with their treatment for five years, maybe if I stuck around, one more could’ve made the difference.”

“But you’re your own person Sirius,” said Harry helplessly, “You had things that you needed as well. You were more than the guiding buff for Regulus’s moral compass!”

And at that, Sirius paused, face blank for one second before suddenly, it creased —  as if his eyes and his smile were laced with something old and kind. Harry suddenly realized how many years Azkaban had put onto Sirius’s face, and how many more must’ve been etched,  like tally marks, onto his own soul. He saw how the frown lines and gauntness had formed in his face which — while full-cheeked and less obvious in bruise or tear — still hung, haggard and worn. A mark of the trauma, of the _experiences_ that Sirius had the misfortune to endure.

 

Harry knew that no matter what he said, Sirius’s mind would be set on the way he saw this part of his life. The guilt. The _anguish_. Did Sirius twinge whenever he laughed in his flat with Lupin? Imagining where Regulus would’ve been at the same moment, wondering if he deserved to even be happy when he had left his brother to the cold luxury of a deadly world and even more deadly people? Did Sirius ever fight Death Eaters and hesitate, wondering whether it was his own brother underneath the hood? Did he take a breath each time they unmasked someone they captured, injured or even killed? Did he pray or thank some higher power in his head when he made sure that Regulus was never ever one of the Order’s victims?

Harry did not know what Sirius was feeling, he did not know what trials Sirius suffered or endured, but he could _imagine_ it. He knew what it felt to have the presence of a person burned into the back of your mind, to have the feeling course through your bloodstream with the same kind of fire and raze every single time. In the way Harry knew he hated Voldemort, Sirius knew that he loved Regulus; without question. Barred only by the lines of fate and circumstance, of choice and influence that ran far beyond his own control. Because-

“You’re right Harry,” Sirius said. “You’re absolutely right, no doubt that if I had stayed, perhaps I would’ve been worst off; physically, mentally...” And Harry swallowed, because he knew what sort of words would be said next. He knew what slept underneath Sirius’s seeming agreement.

“But?” he still asked.

And Sirius smiled again. Stubborn, proud. Sad.

“ _But,_  I was his older brother _._ And I don’t know if you can understand, or if many other siblings have the same feelings but; for Regulus and I… it was an unspoken oath of eternal love and protection. My parent’s beliefs and convictions made it necessary. ”

Then Sirius than dropped his voice, mild in tone.  
Gentle.

“Like my duty to you, the Order, and to R-... my _friends_ ; it was less of an obligation and more of a commitment.” And though Sirius smiled at this, recalling the childish memories of playing Knights and Dragons, hiding under blanket bunkers and dining table trenches; Harry could see the resignation.

He could see the sadness,and it made him want to _cry._ It made him want to reach out and to hug his godfather with all his might, seeing that confident back and swagger, hunch; decicimated and blighted by regret.  

“My commitment to my brother… That will be the one that I will _always_ regret not taking seriously,” Sirius said. And he let go of the tapestry and stood up straight, looking forward and ahead.

 

Abruptly, he squeezed Harry’s hand.  
“Please don’t feel bad on my behalf.” he said.

And Harry didn’t realize it, but there were a stream of tears that ran down his cheeks, the gaping pain of his chest now ripped open to full exposure, pricking behind his eyes as he wept, silent.

 

Harry had always been familiar with pain. It was an old friend. Something that lingered and slept in the crevices of his mind.

But this was,  _different_.

It was similar yet coppered in an older mold, a proof that suffering can never really be more than just _suffering_ ; that it doesn't necessitate strength or growth in the bodies that it affects; it can _stay_ and squirm and play dead; plain, unkiltered and simple,  _pain._  
To an extent, Harry knew it could change someone. In the way his scar etched onto his forehead, it was something so presently forgettable in his life that he could not often fully appreciate or _understand,_ the absolute barbarity of a raw and aged hurt; something that drowned your conscience like another layer of skin, a thick hide that broke into spikes from the inside, only scabbing so it could break and bleed again and again and again and  **again**.

 

He turned to Sirius, who stood beside him, ever so strong... and remembered the shell he was two years ago. A wispy husk of the young man he was before, empty of the romanticism, of the grandiosity and reckless; full of a youth gone bad, of a venture that had staled.  
Here he was, clutching Harry’s hand. His face strained, and in the small catches of whatever heart he poured out; soul, strained. Here was Sirius. Someone who stood straight and became taller than he would ever usually feel, just so he could tell the torment that racked inside, to shove off. 

And this thought, this sight, this moment; burned into Harry’s heart, rolling and broiling, seeping in cracks and webbing into something ravenous; digging itself a crater until finally,

 

“Sirius? I’m glad to have you," Harry said and he wiped at his face with his sleeves, “In whatever shape or form, or circumstance. No matter how you may have clawed your way through —   _I am glad,_ that you are _here._ ” Harry said, firm, with only his voice bent in emotion.

He took a quick breath, eyes hurting and his heart hurting and everything  _hurting_ after hearing everything that could be confessed  _but,_

Once again,

Sirius smiled at him, the purest sort of joy that Harry had ever seen, before he‘s pulled into his arms; Sirius's right hand reaching up and stroking the back of his hair, while Harry is held  _tight_ — his godfather unable to know any other way to explain, what love, what _happiness_ pooled in his heart, with just the gentle and shaky whisper of Harry's honesty.

“Are these affectionate words just another ploy to get me to answer more questions?” he teased.

“-not the time for jokes!” Harry croaked in reply, and Sirius shook with laughter.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” he said but Harry noticed that his voice, too, was... wonky, in a muffled sort of way.  
It made him pull back from the hug and stare at his godfather,

“Are you crying?” he asked, incredulously.

“No, I’ve just got dust in my eyes is all.” Sirius said but then he sniffed, and Harry saw that his eyes were going red and beginning to brim to the edge.  
Noticing Harry’s staring, Sirius began to look around him with mock annoyance.

“I thought you _cleaned_ this room! All this dust getting into people’s eyes — bloody awful job you’ve done!” he huffed. Eventually, as he was stared at for even longer, Sirius broke into a fit of giggles with Harry, unable to resist, chuckling beside him; a strange and tearful mix of something between dry and genuine laughter, as if they didn’t have quite the energy to do either wholeheartedly.

When they settled down, they returned to a silent embrace until eventually, the time passed and Sirius pulled away; but not before, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders. The mirth gone, but still a light in present in his gaze, his dark eyes looking up, down, and then square in the face.

“Don’t worry, Harry. That mistake of duty with Regulus... it will not happen a second time," he said.

But in reply, Harry only shook his head. He took Sirius’s hand and tried very hard to muster as much conviction in his voice as he could.

“Sirius, your only duty is to yourself, you don’t owe me _anything._ And, if you really want to do something, then... be better to yourself, _please_." Harry said. He scratched his head, bashful but indignant. "You.. you deserve it. And I know that Lupin and even my _dad,_ would agree. Wouldn't you think so?” 

 

Sirius looked at Harry.

He looked and felt his heart lift, unseized. Felt it rest on its side, full, as he swelled and smiled and _swelled_.

The dust that had settled onto his bones fell away. And the age that he felt tightening his face and words began to cease, his head singing and filling with a song that once echoed in castle hallways; one of sunlight and green leaves, of sneaking bread-rolls and biscuits out of the kitchen while James tried to hide his Head Boy badge from the house-elves. One that reminded him of how many books he had poured over in the library, turning the pages of old tomes while Remus knitted in the seat beside him. And one that made him acutely recall the sensation of an itchy, wool rug -- how it felt underneath when he lay eagle-spread on the Common Room floor, Lily sitting up beside him, humming melodies and tunes .. while the rest of Marauders dozed off in the armchairs. 

In that moment of silence, Harry watched as for the umpteenth time today (he could hardly keep count) Sirius had the most pleasantly surprised expression on his face. A tender and small, closed smile —as if he was trying not to do it — lighting up his face.

He turned to Harry.

 

“Did I ever tell you how alike, you and your mother are?” he asked. Harry shook his head.

“Is it my eyes?”

“No,” Sirius said, and he placed his palm against Harry’s chest,  
“It's your heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope i did some justice to a relationship we unfortunately didn't get to see/read much of.


	17. The Hearing (I)

Over the next few days Harry found himself spending more and more time with Sirius, the both of them cleaning out his old bedroom and sifting through an assortment of leftover and forgotten Muggle books and tapes, among the other things that Sirius had hidden underneath a loose floorboard. Even outside of cleaning, after supper, the both of them often sat by the fireplace and Sirius would recall fondly, old memories from the edges of his mind; Hogwart pranks, his recurring tea-time detentions with McGonagall and finally, the initial chaos that he, Remus and Harry’s father went through as amateur Animagi.

 

_“-I didn’t know quite yet how to change back, you see, so when I transformed in a rush, ears—or maybe a tail—would stick out of my human body for at least an hour afterwards.”_

_“Really?!”_

_“Yes, good thing my hair was black so no one ever noticed the fur. Though, maybe they always assumed I had brewed a bad potion!” Sirius laughed._

 

Harry was overjoyed to know _little_ details, like his mother’s charm with the professors, his father’s strange morning ritual—kissing every item of his uniform before all of his Quidditch games—and Remus being the inadvertent mastermind behind most of their weekly schemes. It made Sirius happy too, his hands unable to still out of sheer radiant excitement, his eyes lit up as well, always that little bit of laughter dancing behind the stories he’d throw out.

At times, it would become a bit odd; a thick, sort of silence falling upon Sirius mid-story or at the end, just a brief pause, a hesitant dip in his usual vigor before he continued telling the epic tale. Harry always knew that it happened whenever Peter Pettigrew came into the picture. And he had nearly forgotten that the man was one of his parents' and Sirius's closest friends.

Sirius never really mentioned _Peter Pettigrew_ directly. He’d always catch himself before the first syllable ever left his lips, and his brow would twitch whenever he remembered about the parts Peter played in their monthly heists. At times it almost seemed like Sirius _wanted_ ask Harry about the graveyard, probably having heard from Dumbledore or Lupin that their old friend was there that night, carrying Voldemort himself in his own arms. But whether out of respect or a certain apprehension, Sirius soon steered clear of the topic. Similarly, Harry decided not to push it as well.

Instead he turned his mind to the cleaning; grinding in a routine of early rise, dusty days and late nights, while every now and then, a visitor would disrupt their usual and peaceful normality.  _Snape flitted in and out of the house several times more, though to Harry’s relief they never came face-to-face; he also caught sight of his Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall, looking very odd in a Muggle dress and coat, though she also seemed too busy to linger._ Moody had yet to drop in, at least for long enough to deal with the boggart still rattling around in the drawing-room, but _Tonks joined them for a memorable afternoon in which they found a murderous old ghoul lurking in an upstairs toilet, and Lupin, who was staying in the house with Sirius but who left it for long periods to do mysterious work for the Order, helped them repair a grandfather clock that had developed the unpleasant habit of shooting heavy bolts at passersby._

_—_

_“Pads, why does it-”_

_“Bellatrix thought it would be a funny prank, and Mother seemed to agree.”_

_“Ah,”_

—

 

While Harry and the others’ attempted to eavesdrop and attack each visitor with their insurmountable questions, they gleaned only brief glimpses and snatches of conversation before the ever-vigilant Mrs Weasley soon called them back to their tasks. Surprisingly, however, the small snatches didn't bother Harry as much as it used to.  
While at the Dursleys, he could speculate and daydream about what fun or secret adventure Ron and Hermione could’ve been having but here he was firmly in the same boat as them; involved but to an extent, all of them — the Weasley’s, Hermione, Cedric and Harry — barred from any real information except for the scraps and tidbits they pry from here and there.

And _despite the fact that he was still sleeping badly, still having dreams about corridors and locked doors that made his scar prickle, Harry was managing to have fun for the first time all summer._ As long as he was busy, he was happy and with Sirius’s stories, alongside Ron, Hermione and Cedric’s company; he was _more_ than, to be honest.

It was almost unsettling how relaxed he felt during the day, how much easier it was to wake up each morning knowing that Ron would be in the same room, that Hermione would be downstairs reading the paper at the table during breakfast, and that Cedric would be there to smile at him, soft and bright as always.   
_When the action abated, however, whenever he dropped his guard, or lay exhausted in bed watching blurred shadows move across the ceiling, the thought of the looming Ministry hearing returned to him. Fear jabbed at his insides like needles as he wondered what was going to happen to him if he was expelled. The idea was so terrible that he did not dare voice it aloud_ , _not even to Ron and Hermione, who, though he often saw them whispering together and casting anxious looks in his direction, followed his lead in not mentioning it._ He didn’t even mention it to Sirius—though the latter had been trying to hint at it in their most-recent conversations—too afraid of ruining the joyfulness that Sirius had revisited in the last few weeks. 

Harry tried with all his might to swallow the fear up, bury it with the cleaning and the chamomile tea and Sirius’s fireplace stories but… _sometimes he could not prevent his imagination showing him a faceless Ministry official who was snapping his wand in two and ordering him back to the Dursleys’ ._

In his mind, Harryhad decided that he would not go. He was determined on that.  
 _He would come back here to Grimmauld Place and live with Sirius._

But while that thought eased him for a while, a sudden brick dropped in his stomach when _Mrs. Weasley turned to him during dinner on Wednesday evening and said quietly, “I’ve ironed your best clothes for tomorrow morning, Harry, and I want you to wash your hair tonight too. A good first impression can work wonders.”_

Almost immediately, Harry felt the room stiffen. He could visibly hear the conversation between Cedric, Hermione and Ginny fade away while Fred, George and Ron stopped eating (the latter choking slightly on his chops) and look over at him. Trying very hard to stay composed and to keep eating though his mouth was dry, Harry simply nodded and blinked in a rapid and very uncomposed fashion.

_“How am I getting there?” he asked Mrs. Weasley._

_“Arthur’s taking you to work with him,” said Mrs. Weasley gently. Mr. Weasley smiled encouragingly at Harry across the table._

_“You can wait in my office until it’s time for the hearing,” he said. Harry looked over at Sirius, but before he could ask the question, Mrs. Weasley had answered it._

_“Professor Dumbledore doesn’t think it’s a good idea for Sirius to go with you, and I must say I —”_

_“— think he’s quite right,” said Sirius through clenched teeth._ _  
_ _Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips._

_“When did Dumbledore tell you that?” Harry said, staring at Sirius._

_“He came last night, when you were in bed,” said Mr. Weasley._

_Sirius stabbed moodily at a potato with his fork. Harry dropped his own eyes to his plate. The thought that Dumbledore had been in the house on the eve of his hearing and not asked to see him made him feel, if that were possible, even worse._

Cedric stared at Harry, trying to gage what he was feeling, show some solidarity through one shared look. But Harry was too busy trying to sift through his own thoughts to even look back, not even realizing that Cedric's eyes had rested on him the entire dinner. 

_***_

When the clock ticked half-past five the next morning Harry woke with an abrupt start, _as if somebody had yelled in his ear. For a few moments he lay immobile as the prospect of the hearing filled every tiny particle of his brain, then, unable to bear it, he leapt out of bed and put on his glasses. Mrs. Weasley had laid out his freshly laundered jeans and T-shirt at the foot of his bed. Harry scrambled into them. The blank picture on the wall sniggered._

He looked in the bed beside him to see that Ron was fast asleep, mouth agape and eyes fluttering ever so often as he curled his arms around his blankets. Harry watched, not knowing whether he should let him sleep or whether he should wake him. Maybe Ron would weaken the tightness in his stomach? Or maybe he would make it worst... Ron never meant to, but his anxieties about the hearing were as plain as day and equally as comparable to Harry’s, if not more—it had showed on his face all week.

So, vying that letting Ron sleep would be the most peaceful option, Harry decided to walk away and quietly closed the door behind him as he stepped into the second-floor landing.

“Hello,” A voice suddenly said. Harry turned to his right and found Cedric sitting on the stairs that lead to the next floor, body leaning against the wall.

Harry stepped forward with a curious smile,  
“Hi! You’re up early,”

“Yeah,” Cedric said, yawning as he stood up, “-you going to the kitchen?”  
As he roused, there was a slight ache in his shift and a sigh.  
He seemed tired. 

“Er-”

For a split second, Harry wanted to ask _why_ Cedric was there and up so early. He had obviously been sitting on the steps for a while—not an hour but maybe half—and his eyes were droopy, a half-awake stumble in his walk. Yet as Cedric passed, lavender incense fleeting in the air behind him, a swift thought came to Harry’s mind that maybe, _maybe;  
_ Cedric had woken up early just for _him_.

He played around with the idea, while Cedric looked back from the second step down,  
“You coming?” he asked, voice a little coarse like it grinded closer to the bottom of his throat.

“Yes,” Harry replied and as he walked forward, he felt some of the stress built up in his stomach dull down. It was only few seconds before Harry realized that Cedric was still looking at him intently and as they made their way, his quiet morning-voice trickled out again.

“You’re looking better than I thought you would...” he mumbled.

“What?”

“I just.. I’m glad that you can still smile… even for today.”

Harry suddenly realized that there was a small smile, barely there, but still unconsciously brightening up what would otherwise be a very grim expression on his face. He simply shrugged in response.

As they descended downstairs, Cedric trying rub the sleep from his eyes and Harry with that wisp of a smile on his lips, another sound pricked their ears; they could just make out someone’s voice drifting from the dimly-lit kitchen.

_“If you .... serious… exposed!”_

_“I know! But… first time.... Ministry… must be scared!”_

 As they walked closer, Harry could differentiate the voices, piecing together what sounded like an argument broiling between Sirius and Lupin.

 

“Dumbledore said-” Lupin started.

“I don’t care what _Dumbledore_ said! I want to be there for Harry!” Sirius replied,

“He’s right, Sirius, there are great stakes and dangers if you even go _outside_ , let alone if you escort him!” said Mrs Weasley's softer voice, she broke into the conversation but she was still trying to stay hushed.

“I’m not saying that I  _escort_ him, Arthur can do that just fine! I just want to accompany-”

“You’d still going outside!” Lupin interrupted,

“Yes, as a _dog._ ”

“Voldemort,” and Mrs Weasley flinched at the name “.. _knows_ that you’re an Animagus! We won’t know where or when Death Eaters walk among us, not outside of this house!”

“I can _handle_ myself!”

By now Harry and Cedric had reached the kitchen door, but they hid beside the frame, unable to find the right time to walk in while the argument seemed to grow even more heated; Sirius insisting and stubborn, and Lupin visibly frustrated with him. In the middle of the two, Mrs Weasley made erratic moves to try and control their volumes and tones, which continued to grow only louder and snappier by the word.

“I am _not_ doubting your skills.”

“Well, it doesn’t sound like it, Moony.”

“There are just too many things we can’t control-”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! Maybe you’ll expose yourself, maybe the Ministry will catch on!”

“A fat lot of maybes there! _Maybe I_ should go find out for myself and confirm your suspicions!”

“I swear to Merlin-... Would you just listen to yourself?! You sound like a child!”

“And _you_ sound like an old man!”

 

Their voices grew louder and angrier, ringing back and forth again and again while Mrs Weasley made meek noises and stuttered in whatever conversational gap she could. Eventually overcome by curiosity, Harry and Cedric poked their heads through the door just in time as Lupin, his face a furious shade of red, split like lightning from his usual gentle persona and slammed his hand against the dining table.

 

 **_“_ ** _SIRIUS, I WILL NOT_ **_LOSE_ ** _YOU A_ **_SECOND_ ** _TIME!”_ he shouted in an intense growl.

 

And so thunderous was Lupin, so seethingly did his voice whip the air, eyes flaming and fierce that suddenly behind Sirius; a cabinet of plates broke and shattered, exploding as if someone had keenly aimed at it with a hammer.

Harry and Cedric jumped at the noise while Mrs Weasley made a frightful cry, Sirius ducking away from splintered wood that groaned as it crumbled; as if it was put under a sudden and immense amount of stress; the glass and porcelain shards cascading off the wall.

At once, the fire in Lupin’s eyes doused as he panted, a bead of sweat slipping down his face, he began to realize what exactly he had just done.

 

“I didn’t mean to-... Oh Molly, I’m so _sorry_.” Lupin said, and he raised his hands—which previously had been curled fists and held, strict at his side—so that they were open and visibly trembling. Only then, did Harry, and perhaps the rest of room suddenly realize how misshapen they looked; their appearance slightly dark as if he had dipped them into the mud, his fingers elongated, nails winding into sharp claws.

Startled, Sirius stared Lupin with wide eyes, shock fogging his face. Mrs Weasley slapped her palm across her mouth.

Lupin's started to breathe shallowly,  
“I-I-I… I need to-” he winced as he hid his hands underneath his armpits, and began to try frantically escape out of the room.

Sirius tried to grab hold of Lupin’s arm,  
“Wait-!”

But as soon as he reached out, Lupin slapped his hand away and unwittingly dragged his claws through the skin of his forearm in the process. Sirius yelped in sudden pain while Lupin's face went white with horror.

“Sirius, I’m sorry, I’m _so sorry!”_ he said, reaching out toward him but Sirius instinctively flinched away.

“It’s fine, its _fine_ , just-... Moony?” He stared as Lupin backed away, his head shaking, eyes darting towards the floor.

“I need to go.. I need to _go_.”

“Hang on, I’m sorry! That was just-”

 _“_ Don’t follow me, Pads.” Lupin said and he unsteadily stepped through the kitchen door, passing Harry and Cedric without a care as he stumbled down the dark hallway.

“Wait Remus, listen to me!” Sirius yelled, racing after him, not noticing Harry and Cedric either as his footsteps pounded heavy against the wooden floor; his arms hurriedly flinging the door open with a sharp _BAM!_ as Mrs Black’s screams started up behind him.

 

It was five-thirty in the morning, every street-facing window was curtained off, shrouding the pavement below in utter darkness. Only the dim streetlamp glow remained, and in this light, Sirius could narrowly make out Remus's retreating back.

“Sirius!” Harry called from the doorway, he clutched at his ears while Cedric and a surprised--but grateful--Mrs Weasley tried to pull back Mrs Black's curtain with all their might. But Sirius didn't seem to hear anything from behind, running at full-speed and all too focused on what he could see right in front of him. 

“Remus, wait! Just stop for _one_ second! We need to-” and then Sirius came to an abrupt halt, interrupted as his nose collided into Lupin’s back.

For a second they stood still there, only a second, but it felt like a rather quick eternity. A little mist drifted from Sirius's nostril, London's morning cold still brutal even in the summer. Lupin was letting out the same mist, still panting, though to Sirius it sounded more as if he was gasping for air; a small panic attack wrecking Lupin's mind and body, shock registering into his reflexes.

"I didn't mean to- you know... I- you hurt me suddenly and I was just surprised thats all, I didn't-" and for the second time Sirius was interrupted. But it wasn't as abrupt, he let himself  _fade_ away, realizing that Lupin wasn't really listening in this moment; the way his back stiffened, the way he planted his legs into the road, it was all very _very_ wrong. 

 _“_ Please… _please_ just leave me _alone_ ,” He said, still not turning around.

Something icy suddenly shot through Sirius's veins, but as soon as he came to his senses, lurching forward with a _"W-wait!"_  
 

_CRACK!_

Lupin was gone.

And after a brief moment of stunned silence, Sirius realized that his arms had lunged for empty air.

 

A couple of meters behind him, Harry held his breath and watched as Sirius stared out into the now vacant street of Grimmauld Place. Suddenly Mrs Weasley’s voice erupted, shrill and panicked, as she came up from behind.  
“Where did Remus go?!”

“H-he apparated-” Harry began but Mrs Weasley had already run forward.

“You have to go after him, Sirius!” She said, clutching his shoulder, “He won’t forgive himself for that!”

But Sirius didn't respond, still, staring out to the cars that rested by the kerb. He cradled his bleeding arm and just stared, despondent, eyes blinking rapidly. 

“Sirius?” said Harry, who walked towards them.

His godfather looked up with a face lit with small surprise,  
“Oh Harry...” he said as if he had just noticed him, speaking in a voice barely heard.

For a second, something flashed in Harry’s mind, a snippet of a memory when Sirius was only a year or so out of Azkaban; his dirty uniform hanging off his spindly body, face haggard and bleak, a harsh yellowed smile yellow and empty, black eyes that stared from the scruff of his tatty hair.

He looked terrible in that memory. Absolutely god awful. Harry wanted for him to _never_ look that way, ever again. But for some reason… the sight in front of him now, was somehow _worse .  
_ The Sirius that stood right there, dressed in his fine and clean suit, face full and body well-fed and cared for; this Sirius was more of a distressing sight than how Sirius looked the _first_ time he had appeared in Harry’s life. It took him aback, it made him freeze like he had never done so before, as if moving would crack all the veins in his body. And when he touched Sirius's uninjured arm, eyebrows knitting and voice lumped in his throat, Harry could only ask,

“Sirius…Why are you crying?” 

And at this, Mrs Weasley stopped talking as she had been the last couple of minutes, turning her head and then staring while Sirius brought his fingers to his face and blinked in sudden realization. The tears dropped from his crestfallen face, sliding down his cheeks so passively, it was as if they were never meant to be there in the first place; if you took them away, it would just look like normal Sirius minus the sagged shoulders and the line of vision that had returned to the floor. If you took the tears away, it would’ve just been normal Sirius, standing the middle of the street, minus the fact that he could only gape dumbly, not knowing what to say or do next; his mouth crumpling as a torrent of emotion crashed into his heart.

“Molly, he can’t be alone, you know that. Not right now, not like… _that_.” Sirius finally said, his voice barely stable, eyes still blinking rapidly.

“I know, I know. We can go right now if you’d like, it’s nearly full-moon so he can’t have gone far-”

“No, _no_ . You heard him. _I_ can’t go.”

Mrs Weasley stopped.

“Sirius...”

“Please, _please_. I won’t ask for anything else today, I promise, just…” and Sirius suddenly stumbled forward as if he lost strength in his legs, Harry catching him right before he hit the ground, “If something happens, I-!”

Mrs Weasley sighed, an ache in her heart.   
“Oh dear...” she said, carefully holding his arm. But still Sirius didn’t seem to budge from his stiff shock.

“We’ll find him,” said voice behind Harry, it was Cedric’s. The drowsiness had left his posture, and he stared straightforwardly.

“Mrs Weasley and I will go, and we’ll bring him back—she’s right after all, he can’t have gone very far.”

“Okay,” Sirius said, his composure relaxing slightly, “Alright.”

“Let’s get him inside first.” Mrs Weasley said, and she slung an arm around Sirius's waist, going back inside and shutting the door firmly behind; ignoring Mrs Black’s muffled wails and violence from behind her curtain.

 

After they settled Sirius in an armchair—Mrs Weasley having left to scrounge around for a bandage roll in the houses many drawers—Cedric tapped Harry’s shoulder and pulled him away to the kitchen.

“How are you planning on tracking Lupin?” Harry said as soon as they were out of earshot, “He _apparated_ —he could be anywhere in the country by now!”

“As far as I know the only place he can get a Wolfsbane potion is _here_ from Snape, so, I’m sure he’s still around London at least.”

“Are you sure that he’s not in werewolf form right _now_?” Harry said, concerned.

“I don’t think he is. The full moon’s still a week away-” Mrs Weasley suddenly burst in, arm full of bandage rolls. Harry and Cedric turned toward the kitchen sink.  
“-I think he may only be very _sensitive_ right now.” Cedric said, muttering under his breath.

“Sensitive?”

“When you’re a lycanthrope, your senses get really heightened before you transform. You hear, smell, see and taste better, so it can get really… overwhelming.”

“But what’s that got to do with his.. hands?” Harry asked but Cedric sighed, only shaking his head.

“In fifth-year when he taught us about werewolves, Lupin said that strange and random things can happen during the pre-transformation period. No one’s ever recorded the effects so there's only so much we know...”

“And, _this_ is outside of the things we know.”

“Correct.”  
Harry sighed. Cedric touched his arm, concerned.

“Are you worried about him?” He looked pointedly at Sirius, who seemed to be getting unsatisfactory medical attention from Mrs Weasley.

“I'm worried about Lupin as well but I’ve... I've never seen Sirius like _that_ ,” Harry said, hesitantly. Cedric nodded.

“Yeah... I think would cry too though, if I was in his shoes.”

“Really?” Harry tilted his head, “I was so surprised! I knew that they’re close but I didn’t think they were _that_ close.”

“Yeah I was surprised too, but it kinda makes sense,” Cedric crossed his arms. “I always had a _feeling_ , especially the other day, when Sirius asked me to move some stuff from his room—it was a bit of a shock to see Lupin’s suits and stuff hanging in _his_ closet-”

“-Wait what?”

“What?”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Lupin's _suits?_ Cedric, what are you talking about?”

 

In an instant, Cedric’s expression morphed from slight confusion to a sudden revelation, as his mouth dropped to an _“Oh shi-”_

“-Cedric! Let’s go, we mustn’t waste time!” Mrs Weasley interrupted. She had given up on bandaging Sirius and stood by the kitchen door, holding out a coat--probably Mr Weasley’s from the pattern--and ready to go.

Cedric looked between her and Harry.

“I thought you knew, I thought-” His hands suddenly dove into his hair as he scratched his head in slight frustration. Backing toward Mrs Weasley he pointed at Harry, “Ask Sirius later, okay?”

_“...What?”_

“Just… just talk to Sirius yeah? I’m sure he’ll explain if _you_ ask... I-I’ll see you soon!”

_What?!_

Harry didn’t even time think before a  flurry of hurried steps pounded against Grimmauld's wooden floor once again, the slam of a door echoing from the hallway.  
And then he was finally left alone with Sirius, a new multitude of questions to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THE DELAY, I AM ALIVE AND UNI SUCKS


	18. The Hearing (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes to Sirius's room and has a short and small mental breakdown while drinking tea.

Sirius lead the way upstairs, clutching at his bleeding arm while Harry trailed behind—a fistful of bandages in hand while Mrs Weasley’s healing tonics clinked inside the pouch looped around his forearm—following along until finally, they reached a _remarkably_ tidy and clean room.

Grimmauld Place had very few neat chambers, the house itself, a conjunction of oddities; age-old heirlooms and keepsakes, luxury indulgences and flaunts, and evidence that a long line of Blacks’ had walked the dim halls and paced on it's creaky steps. All manner of artefact, object and whatsit’s lined Grimmauld’s dusty shelves (and there were _many_ of those) and even some ‘cleaned’ rooms—like the kitchen—were crammed with secret items hidden in plain sight; like the strange hovering jewel in the plate-cabinet or the windowsill vase that glowed indigo and popped small wafts of silvery mist at noon. In Harry’s short stay, he understood how _old_ and cobbled together, Sirius’s house was. It was proof that the Black lineage existed. A sort-of dysfunctional, knitted-together Frankenstein of a home that fossilized the family tree through its accumulation of their _stuff._ The different layers of wallpaper peeking out from the current olive-green peel, the blackened portraits, the ever elegant but stylistic-clashing assortment of knick-knacks and furnitures; Grimmauld was akin to a museum or even an antique shop, it's entire twisted yet intimate existence similar to that of Knockturn Alley, or specifically Borgin and Burkes. 12 Grimmauld Place was a trove of memories, which was why, the stark arrangement of Sirius’s room blew Harry away.

Despite all the posters and pictures Sirius had hung in his childhood bedroom, _this_ room was free of any decorations, the wallpaper ripped off entirely and exposing wooden beams underneath. It’s floor was clear, the bed made and even the shelves were vacant, Sirius’s windows as clean or arguably _cleaner,_ than any glass-pane Harry had ever seen in his life.

Sirius’s bedroom was a contrast, not only to his childhood bedroom but the entirety of the _house,_ and Harry could not help but feel a slight discomfort. After all, he _had_ spent weeks being subjected to dust and towers of ancient furniture and baubles, that choking wrap of Black history and evidence shrouding every room he ventured; always lingering behind every hallway he walked through, in every corner they mopped up. Strangely, the constant reminder that humans really did live in Grimmauld, made the place less… eerie.

But in comparison to that, Sirius’s room was _empty,_ almost desolate.

Bare _._

“Over here Harry,” said Sirius suddenly, and he motioned him over before stumbling toward the bed, little gas lamps around the walls burst with flame as they walked further into the room. Harry began to treat the claw wounds with ointment, while Sirius downed two tonics, the faint scent of mint and eucalyptus helping him brave nausea and stinging pain. Carefully wrapping the bandage around Sirius’s hand, Harry wordlessly made adjustments, keeping watch of Sirius’s pale face and the small beads of sweat on his brow from the corner of his eye. Each flinch, grunt and uncomfortable shift carefully considered while Harry tended to the wounds as best he could.

“Here.” he said eventually, “Is this alright?”  
He tugged at the cloth one last time.

“Yes, yes that’s fine.” Sirius said. He waited for Harry to pin the bandage down before taking a moment to breathe, screwing his eyes tight—almost like he was concentrating—before he flexed his arm in and out, adjusting to the new pressure and bind.

“Careful!” Harry said, wary.

“Just trying it out.” said Sirius, “I’ve never been scratched before.”

Harry's eyebrows furrowed,  
“Are you-.. Do scratches-?”

“No!” said Sirius immediately. His eyes snapped open and he swiveled his head violently toward Harry, before continuing in a much quieter tone, “No. Only the _bite_ of a werewolf can cause lycanthropy, scratches are… just scratches.”

“Right," Harry nodded, "Then does it hurt?”

“... Well yes, of course.” Sirius whispered. He had stopped flexing and started to simply stare at his bandaged arm, unable to look up as he grimaced, pained. But Harry figured that it wasn’t the scratch that put such a sore expression on Sirius’s face.

Taking Sirius's thoughtful silence as a small moment to relax—the panic now subsiding with his arm properly bandaged—Harry glanced about the room and realized that it actually wasn’t _as_ empty as he thought it was.

By the window sat a table, complete with a tea-set and a record-player on top. In front of it sat two armchairs, who faced toward the city skyline, the breach of morning sun just about to crest above London’s rooftops. Next to an old armoire in the centre of the room—a tweed jacket slung over a half-open door—stood a coat rack and one battered, half-unpacked suitcase, it's clothes strewn and spilling out to the floor. From the dim light, Harry could also make out several stacks of books scattered about and after getting up to get a better look—discovering that they were in fact _Muggle_ historical novels—Harry found more Muggle and Wizard magazines dispersed in strange places across the room, with one box of neatly organized vinyl records, beside the window.

“If you’re wondering why it's so empty, it's because I didn’t really have much when I moved in.” Sirius said, settling in one of the armchairs. “I only grabbed things from the old bedroom and scattered them about.”

“Like the Muggle books?” Harry asked, holding a copy of _‘Homer’s Iliad’_ as he turned back.

“Oh _those,_ I recently bought.” Sirius said, getting to his feet. As he walked toward the window, he snapped his fingers and suddenly, on the table; a disc on the record-player began to spin and a familiar trumpet tune slowly trickled out into the room. Curious, Harry moved toward the window and watched in wonder as the teapot began to hover and pour steaming, hot water into two cups.

“Believe it or not, there wasn’t much to do before you lot all made your way here.” Sirius said, scooping a teaspoon of tea leaves into a cup. “Reading, music— I even tried my hand at arts and crafts last year.”

As Sirius one-handedly made tea, Harry noticed two pieces of, what seemed to be, parchment; almost entirely hidden, save for it's corners, underneath the record player. He picked them up just as Sirius sighed, attention drifting after a quick glance.

“Really, I’ve been showing you my worst sides this _entire_ summer.” Sirius said, teaspoon clinking on porcelain as he stirred the cup.

“No you haven’t.” said Harry, almost at once. Sirius gave him a weak smile.

“I’m usually more charismatic than this you know.”

“You always say that.”  
Sirius laughed and handed over a cup of tea, which Harry gladly took. They both took long sips and cast their gaze straight ahead, eyeing what looked to be a relatively cloudy day despite the bits of dusk peeking from the horizon.

The sun would rise soon.

“Can I ask something?” Harry said.  
Without looking, Sirius nodded, “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Well I was just wondering… what _were_ you and Lupin arguing about?”

The corner of Sirius’s lip curled.  
“You, of course.”

“Oh.”

“Well not you entirely… it was more about _me,_ I suppose.” Sirius said, crossing his arm. “See, I wanted to accompany you and Arthur to the Ministry, as Snuffles. and as you well know from the doorway,”

“He.. didn’t like the idea.” Harry said, caught.

“Correct. I didn’t think he’d hate the idea so much, it just felt like he was just doubting me and _my_ abilities.” he tilted his head. “But I didn’t hear him out.”

“Hey,” said Harry, shifting to catch Sirius’s eye. “He’ll be back soon. He and Mrs Weasley and Cedric will all be in Grimmauld in no time.”

Sirius paused before he replied.

It was a familiar pause.  
He was always vague when it came to Lupin. Harry figured that it was something that he couldn’t—no, _wouldn’t_ —talk about. But there was something snaking in the back of his head, something that told him he couldn’t leave it alone.

Not this time.

Harry watched as Sirius slowly drank from his cup.

“Well, I hope they come back soon.” Sirius said, quiet. But he didn’t address the unsaid, didn’t answer any of the burning questions left in the air, rattling around the walls of Harry’s head; Cedric’s cryptic last words felt like dice being tossed around in an empty tin can. Not knowing what else to do, Harry pulled out the two _photos_ he pulled from the record player, bringing them into early morning light. There was sharp intake of breath as Sirius caught sight of the figures on the first photo,

“ _Oh_ ,” he said, lips parted in a fond smile. “I’ve been looking for these!”

“They were just on the table,” Harry said, “I almost didn’t recognize it.”  

He shifted beside Sirius and properly stared at the photo as well.  
A group of five people stared and smiled back.

In the photo there was a young, leather-clad Sirius who smirked at them, ebony hair tumbling to his shoulders while he cocked his chin upwards, looping his arm around Lupin, who was half-hidden by his fringe; freckles and scars more pronounced as he sported a patchy, tweed-like sweater and a familiar but more awkward and unperfected grin. Beside him, Harry assumed it to be Pettigrew, looking much younger than the man he last saw in the graveyard. This one had blonde curls that bounced while he smiled nervously, both of his hands waving enthusiastically out at them while he strained to not blink. Finally, the last figures in the photo were two of whom Harry could _painfully_ recall, having seen their older versions in the Mirror of Erised.  
James, with his curly mop of a head stood proudly in the middle of the photo, his arm slung around the waist of Lily, whose freckled face and ginger hair looked ablaze while they laughed. Harry could almost hear it, the kind of beautiful laughter his mother and father would have had; it was almost there, echoing in the room. But Sirius’s soft sigh took him out of the moment, back into reality. He realized that a light patter of rain had started to hit the window, and as he blinked,  
He was back in Grimmauld.

“We took these after joining the Order the first time round. It was quite the exciting _new_ adventure for all of us back then,” Sirius said, eyes turned to crescents as he began to chuckle.  
“Look at James and Lily!” he pointed his finger. “It was, quite frankly, disorienting how in deeply in love your parents were.”

“What were they like?”

“ _Disgustingly_ affectionate. You don’t even know!”  
Harry laughed. He watched as Sirius continued to smile at the photo and waited one moment more, before placing two fingers on the corner—"Sirius, tell me about this one,”—and slipping out another picture.

In this second photo only two people were captured, but in a rather comical moment; a young (though not too far away from the first picture) Sirius and Lupin leaned against what looked like the Hogwarts Quidditch stands, mouths gaping open, caught just before they could eat two rather large sandwiches. They blinked in surprise and realization towards the camera.

Sirius gave a raucous bark of laughter.  
“God! It was Lily who took this one!” He said, pulling the photo closer, his grin half-agape from laughing. “Remus and I were never meant for sports—we attended every one of your father’s games of course—but to be honest, I still don’t know the rules, even after _all_ these years.”

“It’s not too hard of a game,” Harry murmured.

“Not for jockheads like yourself and your father, but for everyone else, it's a _logical nightmare_.” Sirius said, eyes drifting between the photos in his hands. Harry heard him mumble something like _“God we looked awful!”_ and _“He really let me out of the house like that?”,_ but despite the insults, there was something undeniable twinkling in his dark eyes.

Sirius’s wrinkles and lines were still creased and aged, but Harry felt that an even older piece of sentiment melting all the hardness; he  _felt_ young, like how he’d become when he told his stories, or even sometimes in those wine-tipsy conversations he’d have with Lupin after dinner.  
It made Harry stare.  
Feel wistful.

“What was it like?”

“Sorry?”

“Being at school with everyone. My mum, dad, Lupin and Pettigrew; what was that like for you?”

Sirius turned to Harry and immediately connected his gaze with him, an abrupt sense of curiosity brimming and washing over Sirius as if it was his own. It made him pause a moment and stroke his beard, careful to consider the question. Eventually, as the croon of the record-players music faded, Sirius spoke,

“It was _magical,_ ” he said.

“..Magical.” Harry repeated, whispering.  
He looked confused.

“I didn’t appreciate at the time,” Sirius continued, propping the photos against the record-player. “In our world, it's something you take for granted, but my time in Hogwarts, with your parents and our friends…” Sirius beamed at Harry, brighter and brighter still,

“It was.. _truly_ magical. They were my family, you know?”

Harry nodded.  
He knew.

He watched as Sirius carefully stroked the faces of each person in the photo, even Pettigrew.  
His touch lingered on Lupin’s figure.

“Is that why you cried?”

“Eh?”

“When Lupin apparated, you-”

“Oh Merlin, don’t remind me of that _please_.” Sirius walked back with a hollow laugh that came more out of his gut than his stomach.

“Sorry, I just- I’ve never seen you like that.” said Harry, following him. Sirius groaned.

“You should count yourself as privileged then! Not even Buckbeak has seen me-..” Unexpectedly Harry shot a rather pointed look at Sirius, which made him burst in genuine laughter mid-sentence, 

“ _Really!_ It was just- I was a little shocked, is all. I didn’t know that-”  
He then suddenly stopped, a stutter step in his walk before he sagged into an armchair.

“What shocked you?” Harry pressed, settling into the second one. Sirius sighed, slightly amused.

“Must we never enjoy some silence and tea in _any_ of our discussions?”

“Sirius-”

“I mean we _always_ talk about me! What about we talk about you this time hm? I’m sure you’re nervous about today but I bet-”

“You’re deflecting!”

“ _Me?_ Deflect? How _dare_ you say that to your godfather! I am appalled at the gall of your-”

“ **Sirius**.” Harry said, voice a little harder.  
Sirius faltered slightly, the playful grin on his face waning away.

“You’re.. _really_ worried about me?” he asked, “I’m fine! It should be Remus that you should be worried about!”

“You _cried_.”

“The consequence of being swept away by the moment! Look Harry—this entire affair has addled with my emotions a bit. And true, I'm shaken but I-I’m O.K, in fact I'll be great! So why don’t we just enjoy our tea,” he said, gesturing to the tea cups they had in their laps. “And maybe I can tell you another story?”

Harry shook his head.  
“I hate it when you lie like that.” he said suddenly.

Sirius stopped, the teacup halfway to his lips.

“I know.” he said, his voice now rid of any jovial mood.

“You are not fine.” Harry continued.

“I am perfectly-”

“-Not okay.” Harry said, looking at him with an unbreakable stare. “You’re not.”

At first something glinted in Sirius’s eyes, the beginnings of a joke, something to play Harry’s rather unexpected seriousness (haha) off; distract him, alleviate whatever had thickened the brew of the room’s tension. But as he stared longer at Harry, gaging how successful that attempt would be; he realized there wasn’t even a need to calculate any odds.

Besides his eyes, Harry did not have a drop of Lily’s likeness. Dark hair and even a face that resembled James, it all assembled into a certain mellowness, the air of someone often overlooked and woven into background noise. In other words, there was nothing _flashy_ about Harry at a first glance, no eye-catching quirks or features that drew the eye to him from the throng of a crowd. His own defining mark was usually hidden behind a lump of messy hair, constantly brushed in front of his forehead; his usual choice in colors and fashion neutral, assessed to blend in with everyone else as much as possible. No, Harry was definitely James’s boy.  
He didn’t stand out like how Lily often did.

 _Yet_ ,

In this very moment,

 

Sirius felt like Harry was lit ablaze.

 

There was an intensity in his stare which penetrated, almost as if those green irises themselves danced in flame; a certain and familiar energy that Sirius knew he couldn’t shake, coalescing around Harry’s person; it felt exactly like the times where he could never joke anything away with Lily. It resembled all those decades ago, the pre-interrogations and urging that she’d do to make him spill and ramble about whatever feelings or internal scars he tried to hide away.

Sirius sighed.  
He was _wrong_.

Harry was James _and_ Lily’s boy, he must remember. And as the breath left his body, large, deflating. He set his tea cup aside on a little wicker table by his armrest, and pressed his nose into the cup of his palm.

“I’m-I am not… No, I’m am not okay.” he admitted, finally. Harry leant over and rest his elbows against his knees,

“Talk to me.” he said, almost pleading.

“Would it be enough to say that the scratch hurts more than it looks?”

“No. That’s not the whole truth, is it?”

Sirius laughed bitterly.

“You really are alike to- No, never mind, but you saw from the doorway. He’s never looked at me like that.”

“We didn’t mean to eavesdrop,”

“It’s alright.”

“But, yes. I saw Lupin’s face—He looked _horrified_ , even though _you_ were the one hurt.”

Sirius sighed again.  
“You have to understand Harry, Remus has been afflicted with lycanthropy since he was a child… Do you know what kind of complexes that develops?”

Harry shook his head.

“He thinks he’s a _monster._ Thinks that he’s not worthy of the luxury of love, trust and friendship-” Harry watched Sirius’s hands tense, not as fists but open-palm, claw-like.

“He’s always been like this and it was always us telling him, _scolding_ him, for buying into that rubbish. ‘Drivel that wizards conjure up’ we'd say, and _yet-”_  

Harry began to see something curdle in Sirius’s head, a boiling cauldron of molten lead frothing and almost spilling over.

“I was a hypocrite. When we were young, I told him that I’d accept him no matter what—and after all these years, he accepted _me_ , telling me he never once believed I had killed our friends and yet I-I-I push him away because of a _scratch?!_ ”

“I’m sure that would be anyone’s normal reaction, you don’t need to be the exception-”

“You don’t understand-! I promised him that I’d be an exception. I- We _promised_ each other.”

The lead was writhing now, shedding like snake skin and seething; the cauldron red-hot, steam and fizzing and contorting bubbles that morphed but never popped blending into pure _awful_ , 

“I don’t understand-”

“I can’t explain what I was thinking at the time, but as soon as I pushed him away.. I _knew._ All he saw in me was another victim. He didn’t see his friend, his partner... He didn’t see _me,”_

“Hold on, I-”

“How infuriating! All these years trying to build him up and now its _my_ fault that he loses his confidence-!”

 _“_ ** _Sirius!_** _”_ Harry grabbed his hand. His head spun with the flood of words, a thread of logic tucked between each vowel yet he couldn’t get enough sense to connect it, Sirius’s rant gushing much too fast and new for his mind to wrap around.

There was only one clear thought in his mind, one burning question that left from his lips,  
_"Why did you cry?”_ he asked.

 

But when thinking about Sirius’s elusiveness, the way he skipped around Lupin’s name and topic. How he would light up after Mrs Weasley would set a spot for Lupin before dinner, how Lupin would bring sweets and a particular bottle of wine for Sirius every time he came back. Thinking about the photos that Sirius kept and the stickers on the battered suitcase in the corner, the patchy tweed suit jacket hung over the closet door; Harry realized that there were _two_ armchairs, and _two_ bedside tables and _two_ teacups. And if he looked, he was sure that Cedric’s slip of tongue would make sense, that Lupin’s suits would be found in Sirius’s wardrobe. And if he had a second longer, he could draw a clear picture out of the dots and clues, fit a jigsaw puzzle together out of the talk of promises and _partner’s_ , he could pick into why Sirius cried and why Lupin ran away.

But he didn’t need to.

Because as soon as he asked, as soon as his mind began unravel that red yarn and pull out an idea; in that moment, Sirius dipped his face into his hands. Like a beacon, a beam of sunlight hit his figure and finally,

“Because I _love_ him, Harry” he said.  
“Because, I love _him_.”

 

Sirius lifted his face from his hands, and for the second time this morning, Harry watched as a stream of tears came running down his godfather’s cheek; his hair, his eyes and his tears all glinting in the sunlight.

“Not like a brother and more than a friend, I love him more than myself, most days." Sirius laughed, strained. Harry said nothing.

"More than the air we breathe, more than every sweet bite and warm coat. More than _anything,_ I don't even need to try. I love _him._ He was the only thing that kept me sane in Azkaban, and now with you,” and at this point Sirius gave in; a sob that was trapped in his throat, spilled out in the break of his voice. His chest and shoulders heaved and shook as he lifted up a hand to cover his eyes, trying to cover the tears.

“You and he are the _only_ things that keep me alive,” he wrenched out, his voice warped by a whimper.

Harry didn’t breathe.

He didn’t dare move or make a sound as Sirius shifted in his seat.

“And now, it is _killing_ me to know that _I_ made him look like that... And I know him, Harry. He feels guilty, he feels _wrong._ He feels like the monster that we always told him he wasn’t. And it's  _my_ fault, I failed him, I-”

“Don’t. It wasn’t, it _isn't_.”

“I **made** him disappear.”

Harry reached over and wrapped his arms around Sirius,  
“Stop that, stop it.” he said. It felt like he was going to cry too.

“It wasn’t your fault," he continued, "it wasn’t _anyone’s_.”

And at this, Sirius didn’t say anything more. He simply clung to Harry and cried, silent.

“He’ll be back Sirius, he will.” Harry said, squeezing him tightly.

“How do you know?” came Sirius’s raspy voice.

“Because he loves you too.” Harry said.

There was still no reply. But he felt Sirius pause and then squeeze, just as tightly back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, thanks for you love! sorry i suck!!!  
> 2/3 of The Hearing arc.


	19. The Hearing: Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry unpacks his experience with Gay™

It took half and hour, 3 cups of tea and one awkward moment where Mr Weasley walked in—wondering where everyone had gone and anxious about getting himself and Harry to the Ministry—before walking straight out, with a timid _“Sorry!”,_  before things finally calmed down within the room. By now the sun had just peeked above the horizon and Harry and Sirius were doused in warm light, beams pouring from the window as from the bell of the record-player, a light piano melody seeped into the background. Sirius, dazed, sat in his chair; his and Harry’s hand still fiercely clasped together, the both of them processing everything that just happened through their heads.

“So you and Lupin..” Harry said, trying to keep nonchalant. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sirius perk up, concern sharpening his previously dull expression,

“Yes. Remus and… I,” he repeated, clearing his throat.

Harry paused.  
“... _Huh_.”

Sirius stayed silent.

“I didn’t know.” Harry said. And that, Sirius let out a little unexpected laugh, dry.  
Nervous.

“We kept it quiet in the past, you see. Only James, Lily and Peter knew.”

“..And Mrs Weasley,”

“Ah yes, she figured it out perhaps... a week into living in the house,”  
_Of course,_ Harry thought.

“Oh, and Cedric,” he added. Sirius swiveled toward him with large eyes.

“He saw Lupin’s suits in your closet,” Harry explained, making Sirius promptly bury his face into his hands.

“Of course!”  
Harry laughed, while Sirius thread his fingers through his hair in an embarassed and frustrated fashion, grumbling into his hands. As the laughter faded, there was another moment's silence before Sirius abruptly spoke again,

“What do you think?” he said.  
Quietly.

Face still stuck behind his palm.

 

As Harry turned toward him, Sirius straightened and fiddled with the rings on his fingers, twisting and plopping them on and off; torso turned, but eyes unwilling to look anything square in the face.

“What do _I_ think?” repeated Harry, confused.

“Yes, you-..” Sirius paused, “-you don’t have anything to say?”

“Er-.. I didn’t know I needed to say something.”

“Well you don’t _need_ to, I would just like to.. hear your thoughts.”

 

It's an innocent sentence for anyone not searching for context.

 

But for all of those out there, beautiful enough to understand in that quarter of a moment; it was a string of words laden with a certain weight, something.. probably heavier in the Muggle world.   
Sirius didn't usually care, it _was_ rare for the wizarding world to, save of course—and as always the exception—his pureblood parents.

But Harry was different. Special.  
Someone important enough to Sirius to make him care, a wizard raised in a Muggle house. And he fully knew what Sirius was _really_ asking for.  
He had spent years with the Dursleys after all.

Even if he didn’t scavenge every newspaper they threw away, he’d know full well what kind of goings-on happened in the world Mugglekind; Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley never let go of the chance to express contempt at a “new” or “strange” thing that popped up, outside of the Privet Drive's norm.

And even without that, after all this time Harry had spent with Mrs Figgs, so much time in fact, that the backstory of each cat framed on her wall was embedded in great detail inside his head; he would’ve known that a man could love man and a woman, a woman. Or even both, or none or everyone other or in between.  
Mrs Figg, when she was in a good mood, would tell him little stories of a “friend” she had framed in her locket. And Harry didn’t need to deduce much to know that it was the same girl that she had a picture with on her mantel, one that showed two young women curled up in a hammock, with one (who looked like a _much_ younger and wilder Mrs Figgs) about to plant a kiss on the other equally beautiful girl, who was caught mid-laughter.

After the Dementor attacks, he understood why Mrs Figg would censor such a thing.  
After all, she was tasked with protecting Harry whenever and, possibly, _forever_. If Harry were to let it slip about her “friend”, the Dursley’s would never let him go to her house, even if they hated Harry so.

But now a sudden realization hit him like a bag of bricks; he _never_ really understood Mrs Figg’s reasons. Why she kept the locket always shut until she had drank just one glass of wine, why the picture would always be hidden by that gaudy porcelain cat statue on the weekdays; it was _more_ than just trying to keep Harry close.

 

He looked at Sirius’s expression and he knew. That hesitance, the discomfort all spelled out on his face; it was the same look given to him last year, when he had walked into the common room and accidentally discovered Seamus holding Dean’s hand in secret, while he slumped over the arm of a chair, asleep. As soon their eyes met, Seamus let go of Dean and stomped away, not one exchange of words or other sounds between them since that incident.

Instead, that night, Seamus’s brow was knotted for hours, his glances thrown towards Harry’s direction so frequently that even Ron and Hermione asked if something happened between them during dinner. And for a whole _year,_ Seamus hesitated to talk to Harry alone. Always avoiding him when they were the only ones left in the dorms or the common room. Harry chalked it up to the tournament, he never really got to talk to Seamus about what he saw. He was too busy. He had told himself that they'd talk at the start of next year.

But there was sneaking suspicion that lay, caught on the hook of that excuse..

Maybe Harry _was_ trying to avoid it.

 

It was the first time he’d ever seen something like _that_ , understanding so _clearly_ what that sight entailed, knowing so acutely the colour of thought that ran through Seamus’s head in that very instance.

The news was just words on page, flashing color on the screen of the telly, and Mrs Figg’s stories; the photo,  
A distant memory, meant only for her eyes and her mind.

Harry understood that men could love men; and women, women. Or even both, and none and everyone other or in between.  
He _knew_ , he _understood_.

Yet the weight, that reality for _those_ men and for  _those_ women, these _people_.. It never fully hit Harry until he saw Seamus’s face; first, the affection. The warmth, the cradled _love_ and second; something that he's seeing again now,

 

Sirius’s.

That well-hidden but intense fear, curdling behind wide eyes. That crushing have-to-wait for judgement moment,   
like he  _had_ to be judged. Like what Harry had to say really mattered.

Harry regretted last year's silence.

 

“Does he make you happy?” he said, carefully.

Sirius blinked before he slowly nodded.  
“I- Yes, yes he does. Though I must say, today was _no_ representation of-”

“Then that’s great! He makes you happy and he definitely cares about you. That’s good, right?”

“Well yes but-”

“I don’t think it matters what I have to say but,” Harry squeezed his hand, “I’m really happy that you found each other, er… again. You both deserve it.”

“I...Thank you,” Sirius looked down apprehensively.

“Did I say it wrong?”

“No, no! I know what you’re trying to say. It’s surprisingly…” Sirius gestured, trying to figure out the word, “- _mature._ I didn’t really know what to expect after confessing to be honest, I thought maybe you’d find me disgusting.”

 _“Really?”_ said Harry, incredulous.

“Well I hear that currently, Muggles are divided on that sort of thing,”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, he couldn’t dispute that. “But I think I’ve spent more time in Britain’s _wizarding_ streets than I have on Muggle ones.”

Harry couldn’t even begin to count the amount of couples he’d have to shove through in Diagon Alley, never mind caring which couples held hands with who as they strolled it's cobbled streets. There’d always be one or two shopping in Flourish and Blotts for matching diaries—which actually got onto Ron’s nerves after a while—and Harry could recall one particularly unfortunate time where Mr Fortescue’s parlour was crammed with pairs lured in by his Love Day Special; he, Ron and Hermione having to spend half an hour in line just to get two scoops of ice-cream each after they finally reconciled last year. Harry told Sirius about the first time he visited, where he saw one particular witch dragging her girlfriend over to Quality Quidditch Supplies so they could get matching broomsticks, and another memory where he distinctly remembered feeling sorry for an older wizard couple in the window of the Apothecary; who tried their hardest to sniff scented potions over the shop’s notorious and overwhelming bad eggs and rotten cabbage stench.

Sirius chuckled. He imagined an 11-year old Harry, wide-eyed in the bustle of the street.

“So when you first walked down a _wizarding_ street, did the sight of these same-sex couples surprise you?”

“A little, but there were other things that were _much_ more unbelievable. You know.. the self-deconstructing brick wall, my first attempt at finding my own wand resulting in Ollivander's shop being turned inside-out and riding a cart through the _bank's_ gigantic underground railroad system? Oh! And let’s not forget the floating brooms.”

Sirius roared with laughter.  
“Merlin you’re right! It _was_ probably the least weirdest thing of your day,”

“You don’t have to do that,”

“What?”

“It wasn’t _weird_ . And it’s still _not_ weird.”

“Oh..” Sirius gave a shy sort-of smile. “Yes, I suppose… I suppose, I should stop being so apologetic.”

“Agreed. it's very unlike you firstly,” Sirius laughed again,  
“And also, they’re just them and you’re just you. I’ll be honest, I never gave this much thought, but, really it doesn’t change much, does it?” said Harry, phrasing it more like a statement than a question.

Sirius beamed at him, smiling so widely that Harry forgot that he had been crying ten minutes ago.

“You don’t… find it strange?”

“ _No!_ I promise! It’d be weirder if I did-”

“Yes, yes I understand that now. But… you don’t find it strange that your godfather-slash-uncle is practically married to your ex-teacher?” he asked, eyebrow arched.

“Oh…” Harry paused, “well-”  
_When you put it_ **_that_ ** _way…_

 

There was a slow creak as the door opened, and suddenly, Sirius and Harry turned to find Lupin in the doorway; a very somber expression on his face.  
Behind him Cedric flashed a cautious and wide-eyed expression at Harry as the two filed in, a sober silence settling into whatever jovial mood fluttered about the room seconds before.

Sirius squeezed Harry’s hand. It sent worry worming its way into his gut.

Harry was both glad _and_ nervous about Lupin’s presence in the room. He noticed that the sleeves of his suit were slightly tattered—more than they usually are—and his hands, though discolored, were back to human fingers. Physically, he seemed okay but there was an unmistakable red ring underneath his eyes, and the way he held himself; hunched, shoulders closing in and head held towards the floor,

Lupin was less okay than Sirius originally was, and as Harry looked between the both of them, two questions filled his head to the brim;

One,  _  
__How did Mrs Weasley and Cedric even find him?  
_ And two,   
_Is it okay for them to even_ **see** each other right now?

The silence gave Harry plenty of time to ponder on these questions, tension thick, it almost felt like there was physically _something,_ a little awkward and a little rusty grating in the air. The piano still played in the background, and Harry's back was warmed by the sun; he could feel the rough fabric of the couch and the creak of floorboards as Lupin and Cedric stepped through, registering, hyper-fixated in his conscious. But then he felt Sirius’s grip relax, his hand slipping through Harry’s, lips parting to draw one breath;

Harry could almost understand what exchange of conversation went on between their locked eyes, the tension, the silence, conveying _years_ more than what Harry could ever begin to even understand.

Without skipping a beat, Harry grabbed Sirius’s hand and pulled him out of the chair, onto his feet; before gently pushing him towards Lupin. And in the same momentum of movement, a little adrenaline coursing through his veins, Harry grabbed Cedric's wrist and pulled him towards the door. 

 

Before Sirius could even utter, before Lupin could even realize what had just happened, Cedric waved a nervous goodbye while Harry threw a _“I’ll leave you two to it!”_ over his shoulder, the both of them bolting and leaving the two alone in the room, with a single click of the knob.

Immediately outside the door, Cedric turned to Harry, worried;

“Do you-”

“-Yeah,"

"They're toge-"

"I know,”

“... Well do you think they’ll be okay?!”

Harry, strangely out of breath, thought back to the moment Sirius had loosened his hand. Despite being in a panic with his  _own_ thoughts, Harry watched as Lupin lifted his head, gaze up and already staring at Sirius from where he stood and Harry _swore;_ it was almost as if neither Harry nor Cedric were even _in the room_.

The rust and awkward grating in the air was nothing bad.  
The tension, the silence, their _eye-contact,_

 _“_ They’ll be fine,” Harry heard himself say, “-they’re in love.”

And it was cheesy and cliche and _God_ he would never hear the end of it if George or Fred were in the hallways as well; but he knew he was right, because there was weight _there_. Weight that, again, he never really understood until now.

And as if confirming his thought, that tug of intuition in his gut, a little bit of laughter came out of the room. It was Sirius's, soft, gentle.

Both Harry and Cedric paused before looking at each other, incredulous in their expression, but smiles _glad_.

 

As they made their way downstairs, Harry realized that the thought of the Ministry and his hearing was now duller; a smaller pit in his stomach despite its happening about to clock him, more directly in the face. The prospect of expulsion, the potential punishment, the dark dingy room and multitude of eyes he kept seeing in his dream; it still terrified him.

But no matter what happened, he made a decision.  
After the hearing, he really _ought_ to send Seamus an apology letter first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay lots of thoughts.  
> one. thank you for your love and support!! i really appreciate it, it really helps me keep going and even though i don't reply often; know that each comment and kudo given really makes me light up, i love getting those emails from AO3, thank you all so much for continuing to follow this dumb little fic i dreamt up.
> 
> two. i really hope that i was able to depict this part of harry and sirius's relationship well. i am worried about how to depict sexuality in the coming chapters so please give me feedback so i can improve for the plot to come!
> 
> three. i worked on this fast!! i have exams soon!!! future apology for long interval of NOTHING!!
> 
> four. we won't be covering harry's trial in depth (we all know what happens) but the next chapter or two *will* be the last in grimmauld. i'd love to move onto the next arc in hogwarts, so please look forward to that!
> 
> again, thank you for all your care! i'll try to update when i can and soon!


	20. Extra: Beans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> consider this, a prequel to the next chapter?

...

Harry made his way downstairs, silent as Cedric trailed behind him.

“arry... H…”

Though somewhat alleviated, the nervousness about the trial still gripped his heart. He figured that no amount of shocking revelation would take away from the thought of going to Ministry or even worse, leaving Hogwarts…

“Ha-… -rry… Oi, Harry!”

Cedric’s voice blinked Harry out of his stupor. He whipped around to face him, “What’s wrong?” 

But before Cedric could even respond, Harry quickly realized that he was still holding onto his wrist.

“Oh! Sorry!” Harry said, letting go.

“No I didn’t mean-” Cedric moved forward and made to grab Harry’s hand before abruptly, pausing; his own hand hovering mid-air as he realized what he was just about to do.

“Cedric?”

“Oh. I was-.. I was just-”

“HARRY POTTER, YOU BETTER GET A MOVE ON OR YOU’LL BE LATE FOR YOUR HEARING!” came Mrs Weasley, screeching from downstairs.

Harry sighed,  
“C’mon, you heard her,” he said, smiling meekly. Cedric nodded and they begun their descent down the stairs once again. But this time, behind his back, his fingers brushed around the wrist Harry had held.

…

“Is it alright if I send a letter from here?” Cedric said. Beside him, on the dining-table, Harry was trying to scoop as much baked beans and toast into his mouth without letting it drip onto his newly-ironed suit.

“Of course! Though you can’t say much about your current living situation, dear, even if she is your girlfriend.” Harry heard Mrs Weasley reply.

“Right… Well don’t worry, I was just sending these to my friends.”

“Oh! Sorry Cedric, go right ahead! Errol will be pruning himself on a windowsill, I bet.” Mrs Weasley replied, and then she darted into the hallway, a laundry basket held against her hip.

Munching on breakfast, Harry turned to Cedric.

“You’re not going to write to Cho?”

“No, these are to my friends,” Cedric said, quickly flashing the names _‘Evan’_ and _‘Hidiyah’_ on his envelopes. “They’re probably worried, I haven’t written to them since I came to Grimmauld.”

Harry nodded. He was slightly confused, wondering why Cho wouldn’t be more or as worried as Cedric’s friends about him. Cedric watched with a slightly amused smile.

“I’ll tell you later if you like,”

“Oh.. was it on my face?” Harry said.

“Yes, along with the bits of beans and bread-” said Cedric circling the entirety of his mouth,

“Oh shut it!”  Harry said. He watched as Cedric doubled over, crumpled by the pain of Harry's fist against his shoulder but still laughing weakly into his hands.

Harry took it back.  
Maybe there _were_ some things that could make him feel less anxious, today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i say this is a prequel but its gonna be more another couple of weeks until this semester FINALLY finishes lmfao, please look forward to it!


	21. The Locked Cabinet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's back from the trial.

Harry stepped through the door of Grimmauld Place feeling as though the bones inside his legs could sink into the floor. He could feel his body _pining_ for a bed, felt his shoulders sag and his spine hunch over, and yet, anyone within a fifteen foot radius could feel the sharp contrast of his spirit; a look of undeniable satisfaction, dancing upon his features. When Harry walked forward he, quite simply, sprung; bright and light-footed in the first few paces before abruptly, a certain excitement overtook him and he galloped through the hallway—past Mrs Black’s fits behind the curtain—and rushing to the warm glow of the kitchen where, in a stroke of luck, _everyone_ could be found; The Weasleys, Sirius, Lupin, Hermione, and surprisingly, Madeye.   
Lunch was about to be served as a cauldron gurgled in the fireplace and a kettle bubbled steam. At the dinner table, Fred and George had already begun to dig in while Moody was, but a few seconds away, from a sip of his flask. But the clatter of plates, the light conversation exchanged in the air, soon came to a halt as Harry burst in; the room almost hitching it's own breath while Harry's heart, quite frankly, swelled with the familiar sights and sensations around him—he had never felt so glad to be in Grimmauld. 

Gone was the Ministry’s basement dungeon.  
Gone were it's dark marble halls and the jury bench stacked with those cold faces that peered, staring straight into his very being.  
Gone was the cold touch of the courtroom’s iron chair, the sight of Dumbledore’s back from his whirlwind entrance to his whirlwind exit, gone was the sting of Lucius Malfoy’s post-trial jabs. The awfulness melted away as Harry faced all that he could call _close_ to a family; his eyes taking in his friends, who were both half-surprised and anticipating, this sight a simple and joyous answer to any of the prayers he had whispered during the trial.

“Cleared,” he said, a big grin spread across his face as he took off his coat and threw it toward the hanger, hooking on perfectly, “I’m cleared of all charges!”

Almost immediately a ruckus ensued; Lupin stood up so suddenly that his chair fell over while Ginny let out a loud gleeful squeal, one that caused Crookshanks, who had been sunbathing, to snap and straighten defensively on the windowsill.

Sirius meanwhile, had ran over and scooped Harry into a hug that lifted his feet a few inches from the ground and soon as he was set down, Hermione and Ron promptly crashed into it as well. Always quick to join the fray, Fred and George conjured a stream of fireworks that were minor and ultimately harmless; but with it's trail of purple and orange smoke, fizzing and swimming around everyone’s head in a dizzy spin of sparkling spectrum of flame. Amidst the celebration Mrs Weasley made way toward Mr Weasley, who had come through the kitchen doorway, mumbling something about _‘..how nervous I was until Dumbledore arrived… Harry was being tried by a full court!’_ But as everyone around gathered around Harry, their smiles wide and hands in the air.. for the moment Mr Weasley seemed just as, if not more, relieved than the rest of the room.

 

_“I knew it!” yelled Ron, punching the air. “You always get away with stuff!”_

_“They were bound to clear you,” said Hermione, who had looked positively faint with anxiety when Harry had entered the kitchen and was now holding a shaking hand over her eyes. “There was no case against you, none at all...”_

_“Everyone seems quite relieved, though, considering they all knew I’d get off,” said Harry, smiling._ With Mr Weasley’s arm around her shoulder, Mrs. Weasley wiped her face on her apron while, _Fred, George, and Ginny were doing a kind of war dance to a chant that went “He got off, he got off, he got off —”_

_“That’s enough, settle down!” shouted Mr. Weasley, though he too was smiling. “Listen, Sirius, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry —”_

_“What?” said Sirius sharply._ His grip around Harry tensed.

_“He got off, he got off, he got off —”_

_“Be quiet, you three! Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on level nine, then they went up to Fudge’s office together. Dumbledore ought to know.”_

_“Absolutely,” said Sirius. “We’ll tell him, don’t worry.”_

_“Well, I’d better get going, there’s a vomiting toilet in Bethnal Green waiting for me. Molly, I’ll be late, I’m covering for Tonks, but Kingsley might be dropping in for dinner —”_

_“He got off, he got off, he got off —”_

_“That’s enough — Fred — George — Ginny!” said Mrs. Weasley, as Mr. Weasley left the kitchen. “Harry dear, come and sit down, have some lunch, you hardly ate breakfast. . . .”_

 

Admittedly, Harry remembered eating an entire bowl of baked beans that morning but could hardly argue when he caught sight of a pie—that suspiciously looked like treacle tart—baking golden in the oven. Sitting down beside Moody, Harry felt his hand clap his shoulder from the behind,

“Congratulations boy, ‘m glad they saw the nonsense in punishing you for a bit of self-defense…” 

“Indeed. I’m glad that you’re going back to Hogwarts,” said Lupin to Harry. He walked by with a plate on one hand and the other ruffling through his hair.

“Thank you,” he replied breathlessly, glad to find that Lupin's fingers had seemingly gone back to being human, and still unable to really put off a ridiculous large grin from his face. Looking around the table, he swiveled in his chair, “Is Cedric around? I wanted to tell him the good news as well...”

“Oh dear, I think he’s upstairs-” said Mrs Weasley, putting a hand to her cheek, “He _did_ say he was going to finish the drawing room today.”

“I’ll go and get him,” said Harry.

As he left the kitchen’s pleasantry, it's glow dimming and the clattering of plates and chatter people behind him; Harry felt the weariness settle, once again, down into his bones. His inner brightness did not waver but as he made his way up the stairs in the hallway, _past the stuffed elf-heads,_ he became  _glad to be on his own again;_ climbing step with the half-mind to get Cedric, tell him the news and then promptly fall into bed and deal with everything later. But as Harry approached the first landing, a very sharp and rather brusque series of noises jolted his drifting mind wide awake.

 

First, there was clattering. Thudding that hit hard against the floor as if someone had run with heavy boots, the way Dudley would very intentionally step into the staircase when Harry inhabited the Dursley’s broom cupboard all those years ago. Then, there was a very hefty, very noticeable _thump!_ as if something dense was shoved against a wall before...

Silence.

Completely unsettling and different to the air that hung before.

 

 _“_ _Hello?” Harry said._ There was no answer.   
From below the stairs he could still hear chatter from the kitchen. There was the sound of Ron laughing—no doubt at something Ginny or Hermione had said—and there was an oven ‘ _ding!’_ as it's timer chimed; Mrs Weasley’s pie was done. Nobody had stepped out into the hallway, or even seemed to notice the loud thudding or the thump. Everything seemed.. normal.   
Perhaps he had imagined it out of his tired state. Perhaps there was an utterly mundane and logical reason that Harry had yet to have thought.

But there was little Harry could do to shake off this sudden feeling of anxiety.  
It washed over him and curled like mist, the type that vagued distant shadows on plains and fields during foggy mornings. Not knowing what to do, Harry cautiously made his way up a few more steps until— 

_CRACK!_

A guttural shout rang out alongside a quick burst of red light, that flashed on the third floor. At once, Harry darted up the stairs, quickening his pace and climbing two, then three steps at the time; cursing under his breath, his gut tightening as he sprinted forward, his head crystallized with the fear that something was very, _very_ wrong. As he rounded the banister, Harry realized he was heading for the drawing-room. And as soon as he could reach, he twisted the knob and threw his shoulder into the panel, flinging the door open.

“Cedric!” he called. But he could only see one figure in the room, a lot larger and stooped over in posture than how Cedric usually would be. As Harry registered this in his head, the figure turned it's head and a familiar, sneering face suddenly made _all the air vanish from his lungs._

“ _Pettigrew_?!” Harry choked, taking a step back. _He felt as though he was falling through the floor._    
_How did he get into the house?_ Moody had said that no one besides those Dumbledore trusted could enter and yet Peter Pettigrew was **here** ; staring at him with cold eyes and a smile that made him shudder.  _But wait a moment, it couldn’t be_ —…  
Despite himself, Harry stepped an inch closer. 

 

Peter Pettigrew looked almost exactly the same as he did that night in the graveyard—albeit, strangely bigger and more menacing—the same tattered tartan suit and cloak, both of his hands still visibly flesh, and in the same arm as Harry recalled all those months ago; he held a bundle of cloth close to his chest, which wriggled and sent arrows of cold through Harry’s heart. A small head poked out, the snatches of it's upper torso pale and parched, the lines of blue veins visible even from where Harry stood and as he took a sharp breath; that weak, _terrible_ voice rasped the words he had been trying to banish from the back of his mind for so long, 

_“Kill the spare.”_

A green light pooled at the end of Peter’s wand. Harry followed it's direction and could _just_ make out another figure, cowering against the darker corners of the furthest wall; a wand held out with trembling hands, yet the body was in even more of a state, wracked and twitching. Heaving as if every breath that passed through was thick and choked the chest.

 

With a revelation that pierced even deeper into Harry’s stomach, he watched as _Cedric_ stood in the corner, clutching at his wand with both hands, eyes so wide and fraught with terror that his entire body shook. 

“Riddik- I, _ha_ … Riddiku _-_!”

He was hyperventilating, unable to get the spell out, unable to get past the cold that gripped his entire being, the blinding fear of the visage; this large, malicious man with a face that—in Cedric’s mind, seemingly—morphed in and out of proportion. 

Cedric hadn’t noticed Harry, hadn’t noticed that the door had flung open or that there was a _real_ person in the doorway trying to shout at him. Actually as soon as Peter Pettigrew’s form manifested, squirming his way out of the desk like a dead body from a coffin; Cedric began to forget what _was_ real. He forgot what he was doing, instantaneously gripped by sheer terror that he had blindly cast _Expelliarmus!_ while trying to run away. As he stood, face slack and completely at the mercy of the tremors that shot through his body, his mind flashed and began projecting, pulling out visions entirely suspect to 'reality', memories and memories of the dreams that had always slipped him by. Cedric's body began to seize up and the room’s walls began to melt down, the house and then the street outside bleached white, and then the floor spiraling down down down before suddenly he could smell _dirt_ ; and suddenly he could feel cold night air pricking goosebumps into his skin, and suddenly he could see the distant mountain range and an old crumbling house on a hill far far away and suddenly, he could hear the grate of iron on stone, the scent of sulfur and _decay_ and suddenly, and suddenly, and suddenly,  _and suddenly—_ it was the graveyard, _the graveyard,_ THE GRaVEyARD _,_ ** _the graveyard_ ;**the tombstones, the Death Eaters, his _nightmares_ —and it was as if Cedric had never left at all, like he was still stuck in the final task, trapped in the moment when the green light soared across the darkness—the sweat, the dirt, the grime dripping and burning him like candle-wax; the light growing bigger and bigger as his own screams seared into his mind and he knew it would only be moments until his world would burn emerald fire and turn cold and dark, and then he would be dead again and then—...

Harry's voice came thundering in Cedric's ear.

“ ** _GET OUT OF THERE!_** ” he screamed. 

Cedric snapped out of his vision, suddenly back in Grimmauld’s drawing-room; the olive-green walls surrounding and wooden planks underneath his feet. His eyes darted around just in time to watch as Harry rushed through, throwing himself in front, and pointing his own wand forward.

At once, Pettigrew and Voldemort vanished. And as Cedric watched Harry's back, his arm flick forward a ball of white, he blinked and felt his knees buckle. Felt something tense inside release as he lurched forward and felt his legs turn to stone, and he slipped away; Cedric felt a strange comfort as the seeming sound of an angel chorus serenaded him, down down down, singing, promising--the ground rushing forward to greet him. Bit by bit his sight and hearing faded, the angel chorus muffled, the sight Harry's back dimming.  
Cedric’s eyes _just_ caught the tail-end of Harry forcing something, shadowy and dark, back down into the desk drawer before promptly; he hit and passed out on the drawing-room's hard wooden floor.

~~~

Harry wiped the sweaty hair away from Cedric’s forehead--feeling for a bruise, a bump--and holding his upper body up with his other arm. He heard several footsteps pound up the second-floor stairs and then into the room, but couldn’t find it in himself to tear his eyes away from Cedric’s pale face,

“What happened?” asked someone behind him, who sounded a lot like Lupin.

“The desk,” Harry said, suddenly realizing how dry his throat had become, “It-...The boggart became _Pettigrew_! It became him before he, he—” 

“Say no more, son,” grunted Moody, who limped over, glass eye whirling around while his real one focused intensely on Cedric. "You got rid of the beast?"

“Yes, I-I did. He couldn’t even say _Riddikulus_ , he couldn’t cast the spell...”

“S’what happens when yer _scared_ , Potter,” said Moody.

“Hold on Harry, let’s get him away from the floor, yes?” beckoned Sirius in the background. Harry looped his arms around Cedric as Lupin and Sirius took his legs, lifting him onto a nearby couch.

"He's fainted?" Lupin said.

“Most likely,” Moody replied as he started looking through a leather bag. The sound of clinking bottles and flasks tinkling in the silent room. Harry knelt down as Cedric groaned, his fingers digging into and grabbing a fistful of exposed coach foam.

Moody finally took out a vial that seemed to have some sort of plant growing inside—a cluster of tiny, blue flowers—before he held it, uncorked, underneath Cedric’s nose, “Might be a bit feverish, but just let him smell some of this and he’ll come to.”

A few seconds passed before, like he said, Cedric’s eyes fluttered open and for that moment it seemed that all would be well. But as soon as the moment passed, Cedric suddenly jerked upright, his legs kicking out as he bent forward, arms flailing out and then back in.

Moody swiftly snatching the vial away,  
“Breathe boy, breathe!” he said, as Cedric clutched at his throat, eyes bulging, his lips pressed closed.

"We need to hold him down!" Sirius cried out, and almost immediately Harry lunged forward, reaching over to Cedric with the butt of his wand and pushing upward in a quick and concise blow that jammed against his stomach. 

Cedric made a sudden gasp for air before a fit of coughs gurgled out of his throat and he began to choke on his own spit; his head spinning. Something throbbed as if shattered glass had been rubbed in between his eyes and his breath felt thick in his chest; his insides painfully squeezed by his own lungs. Cedric felt so short-winded that he had to be held up by Harry’s arms; his arms loose and outside his control, his legs suddenly too heavy to move, it didn't even feel like his body was his own. The sudden sensation of utter uselessness sent him into a state of shock. Desperately Cedric tried scramble to his feet, his hand blindly sifting for the solid arm of the couch. But abruptly he felt himself being pulled down by the hem of his shirt while Harry’s torso, which Cedric had unwittingly clung to, forced against his attempts to stand. 

“Let go,” Harry said. His voice sounded like the room was underwater, “You’re in no state right now to get up right now, let _go_.”

Cedric tried to ignore him, tried to tell Harry that he was fine, and even when the words couldn't come out--his throat too dry--he made another attempt to stand up again. But as soon as Cedric stood vertical, weight balanced in one foot, he felt the room swivel and himself slosh like they were being tossed around in a bottle. He immediately succumbed to the feeling of lead lining his body and crumpled into Harry’s arms, closing his eyes once more to try and get rid of the dizziness.

 _“_ _Catch your breath Cedric,”_ someone pleaded. Panting and feeling the sweat on his nape, Cedric sunk into the couch and obediently began to take deep, shaky gulps of air, pressing his forehead against Harry’s shoulder and stilling slowly, as he caught his breath; the distant whine fading as proper sound returned to his ears.

“Here Potter,” someone else said. A familiar scent drifted around him again. It helped his eyes—heavy as they were—eventually open. Cedric lifted his head up, blinking once, and then twice. Flinching in the brightness of the light from the windows.

 

Harry watched him, Cedric's eyes red and watery; squinting out behind his shoulder, the vision still yet to sharpen, yet to be registered properly.

“Still here?” said Moody's voice.

 

Cedric felt Harry’s warm hand on his back, comforting as the afternoon light gleamed brighter.

 

“Still here,” he replied, wheezing. 

Harry felt Cedric’s head slump over, back into his shoulder. It became immediately obvious that despite being conscious, he was quite exhausted, his breaths still a little too shallow and his hair slick with sweat on his head. Looking back at the three adults, Harry could see the concern, spelt clear in their faces. Moody made his way back to the desk with a grimace, while Sirius and Lupin stood by, their brows furrowed and hands at the ready for another fit. Peter Pettigrew's sinister face slithered into Harry's head. He cursed under his breath and tightened his grip, whispering an apology in Cedric's ear. His eyes burning, the deepest knot of discomfort plunging into his stomach,

 _That is what he sees in his dreams._  
  
Harry swallowed another knot, biting his tongue as the thuds, the thumps, the red flash and the shout replayed in the back of his mind.  
He felt Cedric, with as much strength as he could muster, squeeze back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> exams have finished and im back! thank you for your patience and as per usual, the love and support.


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